


The Bladed Maidens

by Xareth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Copious violence, F/F, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Lesbian Sex, POV Multiple, POV lesbian, Romance, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Inexperience, Snow Septas, Travel, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1965468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xareth/pseuds/Xareth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This tale is rather canon divergent, it shall center around a twist in the current plot, in which Arya and Brienne band together, with some rather awkward and dangerous consequences. This fic is borne of a fascination of mine, I am rather fond of the "What if?" Genre of fiction, ergo, this is my own view of what would happen if the plot veered, with Brienne and Arya journeying together through Westeros. I be will following the show's canon more than the books, atleast for now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Knightly Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " "Sandor Clegane, milady..... The Hound!" Podrick said suddenly, to everyone's surprise.
> 
> Brienne's eyes darted from Podrick to the Hound and to the girl. If thats Sandor Clegane, then that must be........
> 
> "Arya!" Brienne blurted out, much to her own surprise." "
> 
> I told you I'd update it, I keep my oaths, much like everyone's favourite giantess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION: This chapter was updated on the 13th of October at 9:55 PM, the original version of this fic will be available in time far anyone who may wish it.
> 
> \----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- 
> 
> This chapter adds the divergence from both book and show, although this follows the shows events closer. I'm a lover of both screen and print, so though a lot of the detail is taken from the book, the events are closer to the shows timeline, if that makes sense to anyone but me. 
> 
> This chapter is merely fluff to get the plot going, the second chapter will open this fics story further. It will be posted as soon as it is ready. 
> 
> If you have read this then I thank you for you patronage and hope you enjoy how this story unfolds.
> 
>  
> 
> I thank all of you for viewing my folly, please do leave comments, praise, criticism and ideas are all welcome.
> 
> Till next we meet. 
> 
> Valar Dohaeris

                                                                       
   
   
   
                                                  Chapter I: A knightly welcome  
   
 

 

The autumn dew was thick on the sparse rocky grass Brienne and Podrick called home that night, twinkling like icy tears on the grey green grass, even amidst the rocky plateaus and crags. Brienne rose first, eyes heavy with sleep, barely open when a dark blob flashed past her. Brienne shot to attention, sword half drawn by the time she realised it was but a branch.

Scared of wood are we now, what's next, acorns? Letting out the stale breathe she held tensely, Brienne rolled back to her side, hoping to take a moment before waking Pod. It was only then she noticed the lack of noise, other than the gentle whistle of wind or rustle of fallen leaves she could hear no other sound, no shuffle of hooves, restless neighing, huffing of impatience. She turned her head to where the horses should be bound, hoping against hope that the mares would be near.

 

"Gods sakes, Podrick!" Brienne howled, more a growl but still loud enough to rouse the timid boy from his rest.  
   
The poor boy burst to his feet, face pale as milk and stricken with a mixture of both fear and surprise.   
   
"Yes ser... Milady?" Pod sputtered, his mouth a solid line.  
   
"Did you tie the horses?" Brienne growled, deeper than before but much less booming and a hint of sarcasm peaking its edge. "Yes milady, I, I bound them just like you taught me." Pod answered unsurly, an timid smile lining his face.  
   
"If you did it as I taught you the horses would still be here" Brienne corrected, the cutting tone in her voice seemingly cleaving the boys confidence in two.

Brienne rose to her feet stiffly, the stony packed earth that served the night before was hardly the softest. With a resigned groan Brienne gathered up her armour and weapons. Her pauldrons, gorget, greaves, bracers and breastplate were piled neatly an arms reach from her bedroll. Oathkeepers hilt glittered pink in the morning light, it's rubies shining like the dew that speckled the grass around them. 

Brienne gathered them each up in turn, buckling her sword belt, adorned what armour she could and let podrick attach the rest. When it was all secured Brienne stood and tested her joints, clean and fine, not a single creak or grind, "Jaime's smith truly was a master of his craft" Brienne thought aloud, a gleeful smile finding its way to her lips. 

Brienne was torn from her reverie though not unhappily by Podrick tripping on his own bound axe, crashing into a sullen pile on the slick grass.

"Lord Tyrions axe is not to your liking I see." Brienne chuckled as she patted out the last embers of their meagre fire.

"Yes Ser, milady" said Pod with his usual cringe at the stumble, his pain and embarrassment obvious in this face. 

Pod pulled himself to his feet, his face flushed a deeper red than the colours he bore at his breast, almost purple. He wiped the wind strewn clumps of leafy grass and dry earth from his brigandine, the already crusted mud flaking into the gaps in the iron plates festooning his chest. Without another word, Pod gathered his bedroll, dagger and pots, quickly stowing the bedroll and pots into the saddlebag at his feet. When Brienne saw the boy fumbling with the small iron buckles she choked on any jape she cared to make, instead she began to seethe with barely contained laughter.

"You can carry the bags, means as you lost our mule, you will serve as one." Brienne said, half jesting, a slight smirk on her face as she hoisted the heavier bag to her back and struggled furiously to contain her laughs. 

"Aye milady!" Pod nodded sullen agreement and slung the heavy leather saddlebag over his shoulder. The yelp he let out was near as amusing as the dry thump he made as the weight of the bag threw him back, arse over heel back into the dirt. 

This time Brienne let her giggles simmer quickly before she turned to help the dazed boy to his feet. The look on Podrick's plump little face reminded Brienne quite awkwardly of a cow Brienne's lord father had been very find of back on Tarth, the thought made Brienne gulp.

They trotted on for a few ours without incident, eventually reaching a obviously derelict, and exceedingly rocky mountain pass. As worn as the road was they passed smoothly over it, only the occasional slip from Pod, or a distant clap of thunder to break the suspicious serenity of the trail. 

They continued east, hoping to reach the Bloody Gate with before nightfall, at least that was what she told Pod, Brienne knew the gate was at least two days distance if they made haste but the boy seemed overly drained recently and the hope gave him at least a flicker of respite, even if it was a lie. After hours of uneventful trudging they found themselves at the foot of a deceptively large hill and near midday. Pod let out an audible yelp at the sight of the ambitiously treacherous climb. Brienne was not fond of the idea either but if they could pass this mountain by nightfall they could rest on the plateau, among the rocks and dirt, though at least it was not as cold as expected, the demise of summer and birth of winter had spawned a few days of surprising heat in the vale. 

"The calm before the storm." Brienne grumbled under her breath as a warm wisp of wind licked her cheeks.

The climb truly was treacherous, steep, loose, slippery and on occasion downright deceiving. Rocks would come loose and tumble down the hill, a few nearly took Pod with them, tumbling heavily down the inclined cliff. When they finally reached the wind burned peak they collapsed into a heap, exhausted. They slung their saddlebags weakly upon a soft lifeless hillock. It was evenfall now and the sky was a plum purple, mixed with shades deep red and darkest black, the crimson and darkness resembling Oathkeepers blade with each colour entwining itself around the other. 

The stars twinkled like tear drops of purest crystal. The pair of them regained their strength amongst the pebble smooth boulders and slap dash patches of rustling, dead grass and soon rose to their feet, unfurled their bedrolls and rummaged in their saddlebags searching for some fare to warm them after such an exhausting task. 

Instead of the waking dream of roast capon and rich gravy, smothered in grease and served with finest arbor gold they both got a serving of salt beef that resembled the boiled leather Brienne wore beneath her plate or manchet bread so tough it took an axe the size of the wall and a man large enough to wield it to shear it in two. Brienne resigned to nibbling at the edges. There are castle walls weaker than this loaf and I'm hardly a siege engine. 

Pod collected some small willow and young birch branches for firewood, the vale lacks most trees, especially this high in the mountains, they would be lucky to find a tree any older than Pod. After some frustration, the fire took light and the salt beef began to soak in a stout cast iron pot hung over the naked flame.  
 Brienne lay stiff backed on her bedroll, she would not shed her armour this night, too dangerous with the mountain tribes loose in this part of the vale, while Pod fussed over they're would be meal, Brienne decided to fill the familiar silence that had fallen upon them once again with some semblance of a conversation. 

"Podrick?" Brienne said calmly

"Yes milady, Ser" pod answered, lifting his head from the pot with another cringe.

"You once told me you slew a man while you served Lord Tyrion, but you failed to mention who?" Brienne asked with her usual blunt fashion, though she made sure to keep the inquisitive look on her brow firm and unflinching.

"Ser ma-.. ma-.. Ser Mandon Moore, milady." Pod said nervously, his speech barely more than a coarse whisper through gritted teeth, as if he feared the names owner might appear from behind a rock.

As the wave of acceptance washed over Brienne it occurred to her just who Ser Mandon Moore was, much to her surprise. "Ser Mandon was kingsguard, how could you kill a kingsguard? Brienne asked, her words heavy with shock and disbelief but edged with subtle respect.

"He tried to murder Lord Tyrion!" The squire squealed quickly, "so I-... I put a spear through the back of his leg, and... And-." Pod stumbled over the last few words and ground awkwardly back into silence.

"And?"

The boys small face seemed to tensed tenfold at the sound. Good work, now the boy looks like he's been stuck with a dirk. "And bear his head on the rocks until he stopped twitching." Pod said through tensed lips, each words more strained than the last but without stutter. 

The image made Brienne flinch herself, the thought of a boy like pod doing that was so strange to her mind it seemed clouded, even in her mind. Brienne would have continued but she sensed the fear on his voice. 

Instead Brienne laid back on her hands and drifted deep into thought. Thoughts of Tarth swirled blissfully around her resting eyes, it's lush green fields and hills, the clear sapphire waters and the halls of her fathers keep. 

She was awoken moments later by Pod offering her some well boiled salt beef, she gnawed on it absentmindedly, her mind still locked on green fields and clear waves. It stayed that way for some time, neither if them broached conversation, barely a look was shared until they both slipped into sleep.

 

\----- ----- -----

 

The thick smell of charred wood filled Brienne's lungs as she stumbled over slick grass and twirling roots in blanketing darkness. "Traitor!" Came a shrill whispering voice on the air, no origin to be found, the words whipped around Brienne like any other breath of wind. 

With the words came light, as cruel as it was. The land around Brienne glowed with a pale orange light. Around Brienne stood a tangled mass of charred, splintered wood, a whole wood uprooted and burnt. Pelts of arrow and quarrel feathered nearly every inch around her, and to Brienne's surprise, two fat quarrels protruded from the curve of her chest, plated deep as roots with only the fletchings showing and another skewered her thigh. As deep as her wounds went, Brienne could not feel them, not even the burn of fresh rent flesh. 

While Brienne examined the cracked and twisted quarrel homed comfortably in her thigh, a deep, grunting squeal made her burst to her feet, drawing Oathkeeper without thought. Silence hung over the ravaged wood for a heartbeat, hanging sickly in the musty air. Another gasping squeal shot her into action, before she knew what was happening she was leaping over snarls of fragile tree root and what looked like charred flesh. A third muffled groan brought Brienne's pace to its limit, her long legs wrenching up trenches in the ash quilted earth as she strode heavy and laboured through the brush.

With a heavy grunt Brienne burst through a snag of dead, crisp leaves into a clearing. In the center sat a large, round, pluming fire, the charred and twisted corpses of five men impaled on thin iron stakes around its rim. Another, even more urgent gasp brought Brienne's gaze about, to the looming oak at her back. 

Shock grasped Brienne like the strangers own cold, rigid fingers. Before Brienne dangled Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer hanging high from the rugged ancient oak, his feet flailing in desperation and the glare of a man betrayed beaming from his bulging eyes. 

Before Brienne could act, draw her blade, cry out for quarter or move at all, a gut wrenching crack whistled filled her ears, setting the air thick and heavy as treacle without so much as a flutter of nearing carrion. The sharp snap brought an end to Jaime's half hearted struggles of freedom, his rough neck, pelted with fine golden hair was bent at an angle that brought disgust at the slightest glance, Brienne stared on regardless, the vomit building from the sight could line her front before she would turn away. 

Jaime's eyes were bloodshot and bulged and his once toned, feline, almost statuesque face a colour akin to darkest amethyst, twitching, a face once a wonder to behold now somehow grotesque. Brienne wished in that moment to lunge, strike off the bond that bind him and prey to the old gods and the new to let him live, but Oathkeeper stayed firm in its scabbard, Brienne's limbs were numb and distant, every will she gave to move failing, instead her arms stayed fixed in place, rigid at her side as though carved from wood. 

With frustration and despair building inside her, and her body fixed meekly in place, Brienne cracked, howled, a scream of anger and sorrow only given once before, over the corpse of a king. A Tarth she may be but this howl could darken even the brightest of stars. 

It was only then, with icy tears building in her eyes and ungodly anger in her heart did Brienne notice the cloaked figure beside her friends corpse, grasping a taut rope, it's fingers caressing the knots and twists. The thin pallid skin of its arm peeling off as it ran along the grain of the rope.

The cloaked figured turned quickly towards Brienne, as if reading her thoughts. A plume of dull orange light cascaded into its deep hood. Inside sat a pale, dead face, sunken eyes and mottled grey skin with wisps of brittle white hair matted to its brow and a long gash at the throat so black it looked like the corpse wore a necklace carved of dragonglass. More corpse than man, if it were a man at all. 

Regardless of gender,n it lived, a corpse of a woman with a face no more that a skull, the skin stretched tight over its cheeks, thin, dead, and rotten. As decayed and sunken as the dead woman's features were Brienne felt the sickening taste of recognition on her tongue, she knows that face... A face of anger and despair.... Of love long lost and.... And of honour taken at the edge of a blade. 

Another crack of embers lit the darkened hood again, this time Brienne recoiled, dragging herself away from the creature before her, one word burning in her mind.

"Stark!"

 

\----- ----- -----

 

Brienne screeched as she woke, pouncing from her furs and drawing Oathkeeper before her eyes had even opened. A single bead of cold sweat ran down Brienne's brow, gliding over the thin film that covered the rest of her. 

Brienne shook away the cold sweat and stood, from the plateau she had a wondrous view, of the hundred mountains and valleys that made up the vale, if not for the morning mist she could see the gates if the moon, maybe even the eyrie but the vale was famed for two things, stone and fog, each of which it gave in earnest. 

Even with the beauty of the vale before her, Brienne couldn't help but feel a grain of doubt at the back of her mind, What if Sansa never made it, what if she died, what if she never came at all, what if she's buried behind a butchers in flea bottom or feeding the poor, in a bowl of brown?

Brienne couldn't let herself slip now, not after this long, not after her oath. Setting her mind to the task at hand, she padded softly to the small bundle of furs pod called home for the night, "Podrick!" She grumbled, giving the boy a poke with her toe, no response. 

"Pod!" She said again, this time with a sharper tone, for all the good it did. The bundle shifted slightly then started to snore, Brienne returned with a hard jab at what she assumed was the boys arse, turned out to be his head, not that there was much of a difference. 

The squire grumbled loudly when the toe of her boot knocked stiffly agains his skull, the look he gave Brienne only added to her guilt, she had intended to scold him for losing the horses again but the wounded look in his eyes stayed her tongue. Together they packed away what they had, pots, pans, stove and the like and started again up the pebble road. Though the path was not particularly steep, a horse would not go amiss, even Pods old rounsey could carry a bag or two. 

If they kept a steady pace they could reach the bloody gate by nightfall, but the loose pebble road seemed to push back on them, the stone shifted under their feet so every step put them half a pace back. As frustrating as the road was, the conversation was worse, or more aptly the lack thereof, Pod trundled along at Brienne's side in silence. Maybe he thinks I'm still angry about the horses, I am but that's no reason not to speak. The silence continued for almost an hour, broken only by the distant rustle of the sparse trees along the mountain side. 

"Do you think we'll really find Lady Sansa, Ser-, my lady?" Pod said finally, much to Brienne's relief.

I do hope so, but Westeros is huge and Sansa Stark is as dainty as they come. "I hope so, but there are many places for a girl to hide, I only hope the eyrie is one of them." Brienne's throat was dry and the words sounded laboured from the lack of breath in her lungs. Pod did not return with another question, only bowed his head and set himself back into the rhythmic trudge. On the rocky road the air was fresh and clean, smelling of nothing but the winter chill. 

Before long the sun hung bright in the middle of the sky, beaming down a thin veil of heat on Brienne's back, even through plate, mail and shirt Brienne could feel the warm glow of noon. They continued silently for some time until Pod stooped in his tracks, the sudden thump taking Brienne aback, "what is it?" Brienne asked when she saw the look of fear in the boys eyes. The boy gave no answer, instead he stuck out a finger, pointing over Brienne's shoulder. 

Behind her Brienne spied a small shifting figure perched on a rock up ahead.

"Let's say hello." Said Brienne more boldly than she intended. Brienne couldn't see why the boy seemed so scared of other people on the road, to weeks before she froze in fear when a farmer with a flock of sheep passed them, sitting bolt upright in his saddle and staring madly, as if the lambs would draw steel if he broke his gaze.

"Yes my lady." Pod moaned reluctantly and started forward again, though Brienne noticed his fingers hovering over the hilt of his shortsword, dirk really but in his hands it looked like a stunted longsword.

As the figure came closer it's blurred edges focused, forming into the shape of a short girl, a few inches shy of five foot with black-brown hair shorter than she was and steely grey eyes, clad in a ragged leather jerkin and threadbare wool and leather britches, and swinging a thin Braavosi blade in numerous patterns. 

The girl spun on the spot to face them blade in hand as they neared. Brienne and Pod smiled jovially as they approached, though given how forced pods was, the girl could be forgiven for thinking it a mockery. But the girl just stared, her grey eyes tracing their every move. As they approach the girl murmured something Brienne could not decipher and continued to trace their every move with the point of her blade. They stopped a few paces from the girl, Brienne was careful not to look too menacing, that had caused problems more than once. Brienne towered over the short girl, she must be at least a foot taller than her, and twice as wide.

"People coming!" The girl said hurriedly to the towering crag at her side.

"We mean you no harm, we are simply passing, we've come to ask directions to the bloody gate." Brienne said realising how she must look, clad in plate and mail, and the jewelled sword on her hip didn't help.

If the girl heard her, she took no notice. 

"People coming!" The girl said again with a tone to curdle milk

There was a low grumbling sound from the rock. The girl turned, hissing angrily.

"You can shit later, there's people coming." The girl said quickly, her gaze fixed squarely on Brienne 

The girls tine, and the direction in which she apart her word forced Brienne's hand instinctively to Oathkeeper's hilt gripping the soft leather tightly and loosening it in the scabbard. Then, as if reading her fears, a huge man emerged from behind the rock, his hands fumbling with the laces of his britches. 

The man was of a height with Brienne, maybe even taller, despite his size he looked the cruelest in the seven kingdoms. He wore grey-black lamellar and plate, his vicious greatsword in hand, jagged and blackened, by blood or fire, Brienne couldn't tell. But easily his most distinctive feature was the right side of his face, black as jet and scarred, wet streaks of red peeking through the charred darkness, reminding Brienne strangly of Oathkeeper blade, the crimson and black whorls were near identical. 

Brienne could see the great man had tried to cover his cracked and bubbled face with streaks of lank black hair, shoulder length and brushed into a thin black curtain over his scarred flesh, though the visage failed and the ruin of his face was plain to see. 

Brienne felt bad for judging his face before a word was uttered, she was in no position to judge another's beauty, the only men that had sook her favour were degenerates on a bet or old men in search of her fathers land, that was the men anyway. 

"Seven blessings on you." Brienne said as the man glanced up from his britches. 

The burnt man nodded in response, his gaze locked on Pod.

"Sandor Clegane, milady..... The Hound!" Podrick said suddenly, to everyone's surprise.

Brienne's eyes darted from Podrick to the Hound and to the girl. If thats Sandor Clegane, then that must be........

"Arya!" Brienne blurted out, much to her own surprise.

Arya glanced about nervously, as if her armour had been torn away, if she had any to begin with. Brienne could see Arya's mind working behind her eyes, she had heard tales of Arya from Lady Catalyn, she was known to glance around before she ran, but the look in her eyes betrayed that she could find no escape, instead she simply raised her tiny sword higher, the thin blades tip a foot or two from Brienne's eye, Sandor kept his low, but his arm visibly clenched and his fingers tightened around its ragged grip.

"I am Brienne of Tarth, I am sworn to your lady mother to find and bring you to-" 

"Her mothers dead!" Sandor interrupted angrily, "killed at the twins, we should know, we were there!"

A sickening chill ran up Brienne spine at that, the Starks truly were cursed, for a girl to see her family slaughtered like that. "Yes that is true but I swore to your mother I would keep you and Sansa safe, I'm here to take you to safety." Brienne retorted with a tone more cutting than she intended.

"And where is "safe", her mothers dead, her fathers dead, all her brothers are dead, her sister is a hostage in kings landing and Winterfell is a pile of rubble. Where exactly is safe, you dumb bitch?!" Sandor snapped furiously. Brienne slid Oathkeeper from its scabbard slowly, this cannot end well. "She has nobody to watch over her."

"And that's what your doing is it, watching over her?" Brienne asked firmly.

"Aye, that's what I'm doing" Sandor answered with a sincere glimmer in his pitch black eyes. "Who gave you that sword girl, did you strangle him with your bed sheets and steal his son too?"

"Jaime Lannister gave me this sword to me to protect Ned Starks daugh-"

"Lannister" Arya hissed.

The Hound glanced to Brienne's blade, his eyes widened tenfold at the sight of the rippled steel, he smirked wide, his grotesque face contorting as if in pain.

"Valyrian Steel, I've always wanted some Valyrian steel." He said mockingly and moved himself in front of Arya.

"Claim it!" Brienne cried and lunged forward, bringing Oathkeeper blade in an overarching slash above her. Steel met steel and the resulting ring made Brienne wince.

Brienne slashed the deceptively light blade again, this time for Sandor's warped face, the Hound slapped her blow aside with the flat of his blade and lunged with his shoulder, catching her squarely in the chest. Brienne managed to stay upright but the loose stones beneath her gave way in her stead, sending her lurching back, only to trip on a not so loose rock. The stumbles sent Brienne tumbling through a small gap betwixt two sheer rocks, and lucky it was, as Brienne tumbled she caught a glimpse of steel where her bloody great head had just been. The Hounds strike clashed against a rock instead, sending bright sparks skyward. 

Brienne rolled when she landed, back on her feet in moments, above her Sandor stood chuckling, "Lost your taste dog?" Brienne called up, the reaction was all but perfect.

 

The Hound jumped down immediately, his feet sounding almost like a clap of thunder as they met the dry earth below, Brienne saw her opportunity and lunged as Sandor stumbled, his knees buckling from the deceptively hard landing. The Hound tried to slap away her blade again but Brienne's blow was too quick, landing with a heavy thud on his shoulder, sparks flew from him as Oathkeeper slid away, a dent the size of a fist in the thick steel. 

The Hound slashed wildly in response, the tip of his greatsword catching her in the rib. Brienne returned in kind and the two giants slashed at each other for what felt to Brienne like an age. As Brienne began to feel the familiar tired ache in her wrists, the Hound brought down a heavy two handed blow inches from her face. The greatswords jagged edge plated itself deep in the ground and seeing an opening Brienne thrust her blade low, hooking her crossguard in the plates of Sandor's gauntlet and tearing up with all her strength, sending the Hound reeling, the gauntlet at least ten feet into the air and pivoted the greatsword away, though it stayed firmly in the earth.

With a final armoured kick in the arse, Sandor collapsed to his knees, his right hand clenched tightly around his wrist. Brienne raised Oathkeeper to his chin. "Yield Ser, we can end this without spilling any more blood!" 

The glare she got in response almost made Brienne flinch, the Hounds once cold eyes burned with fury, at her words or at his ruined wrist Brienne couldn't know. "I'm no knight!" He growled, and flung his hands forward, gripping Oathkeeper blade first, his face stayed the same as his grip tightened, not even flinching as the thick ribbons of blood stained his hands crimson, stare unending as he began to stand. 

With a great tug, Sandor thundered to his feet, Oathkeeper slipped her grasp and before she could think, the Hound brought the sword back, the gilded pommel crashing against her face with inhuman strength. The blow sent Brienne sprawling to the floor, her face ablaze with pain. 

The Cleganes truly are mad. Brienne snapped back to reality as the Hounds huge boot crashed down beside her head. The Hound stumbled as his boot met earth and Brienne forced herself up, slamming her armoured elbow into his knee and rolled away. The pair both lurched to their feet in tandem, but Brienne landed the first blow, a wild haymaker clashing wetly on the hounds scorched cheek. 

To the hounds credit, he gives as good as he gets and Brienne tensed as he landed two hard blows, one to her belly and another to her temple. The fight continued for a eternity after, each striking the other with blows to shatter steel, the stalemate ending only when a missed swing from Brienne left her open, Sandor took his opportunity and threw his huge arms around her waist, hoisting her off her feet and threw her across the plateau, letting her crash loudly onto the rocky presipice. 

With her eyes filled with mixture of blood and dirt Brienne barely felt let alone see Sandor as he climbed atop her, she felt half a corpse by now and the earth in her eyes didn't help with the feelings of burial, but the following punches did more than any Maester to bring her back to the land of the living, for all the good that is. 

The punches seemed to dull with each successive blow, a queer numbness cloaked Brienne as the Hound pommeled away at her. I guess this is how I go, brought down by a mad kings mad dog, No!

With the fires of defiance flaring within her, Brienne shot up, her left hand gabbing Sandor's throat with enough force to bend steel and her right to his face with enough force to break the man wearing it. Again and again she pounded, beating her bloody fist against his ruined face at least a dozen times, until he leaned in heavily and struck their heads together. 

Without thought Brienne's knee shot up, burying itself deep between his legs. 

"Bitch!, fucking bitch!" Sandor howled over and over as he rolled away, his head thrown back and face twisted even more than before. Brienne rolled away, scanning the plateau for her sword, all she found was pain, behind her the hound must of recovered from his fit of agony to return the favour. As she crawled in search of her blade, the Hound threw forward his plated shin, pounding his foot to her softest of parts. The spears of pain that erupted from between her legs nearly sent Brienne into sleep deeper than death itself.

"My boots probably the best your cunts likely to get girl, I doubt even a halfwit would venture between your legs!" 

With her tongue flailing in pain Brienne couldn't retort with some witty remark, only a growl akin to thunder and intermittent spasms of pain.

A final great spasm threw Brienne to her feet, and with a rage purer than the gods themselves, anger that could make even the Stranger flinch in her heart. The world around her blurred, the earth and sky became one and even pain fled before her wrath, the Hound however was not so clever. Brienne screamed and charged the burnt giant, her blows cutting through his defences like a knife through warm butter, each strike sending his scarred body headlong into the next and soon he knelt at her feet, his face nearly black with blood, "Please." She heard him beg, no. Brienne gave in to hate, smashed her boot to his chest, sending him lurching to his feet and charged. 

Sandor welcomed his fate and allows her to end, opening his arms and throwing back his head. They clashed together in a furious mass of metal and blood. They fell together, their eyes locked together as they went, Brienne's eyes half sealed shut with blood. The world spun around them as they fell, or perhaps they spun around it, with her mind so clouded Brienne could hardly think, let along wonder on something as philosophical as that. 

The whirling world went black with a crunch and consciousness slipped Brienne's grasp, she accepted her fate and fell serenely into the watery darkness that beckoned her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my definitive checklist for symbol usage, these will placed in every third chapter, so as to keep new readers informed..
> 
> -o- : this signifies a switch of character 
> 
> ~o~ : This signifies a flashback, story, song, etc 
> 
> \---- : This signifies passage of time, sleep, unconsciousness or dreams.
> 
> -~o~- : This signifies wolf dreams, warging, skin changing, etc
> 
> Just to resolve any confusion later on.
> 
> Also, inner monologues and thoughts will be highlighted with italics, I was tired of the confusion from using quotation marks for both speak and thoughts.


	2. Blood & Daffodils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time we will get some backstory to the groups current predicament.
> 
> -o- : this signifies a switch of character 
> 
> ~o~ : This signifies a flashback, story, song, etc 
> 
> \---- : This signefies foresight, dream, vision, etc
> 
> Just to resolve any confusion later on.
> 
> Also I apologise for the wait I was slightly distracted by the new destiny beta, sorry. 
> 
> (No regrets!)

Chapter II

Blood & Daffodils

 

The sweet scent of daffodils filled Brienne's lungs, sweet and earthy. But it's pungent beauty was pierced by the bitter metallic tang of blood, a smell like sickly iron. Even with the taint of blood the sweetness of flowers was pleasant, until the pain. 

A sharp, piercing pain, like a dagger of ice dragging the length of her chest, cracking every rib in its path. She lifted her heavy, clotted eyelids to see podrick, whitefaced and clammy sat next to her, his deep red leather tunic splotched with blood. Her sight slipped her grasp and she fell back into that damned slumber. 

She woke again, this time she saw a sight to behold, Arya Stark and Podrick Payne holding swords to the throat of a man in long grey robes, a long heavy chain hung from his neck, a maester. They said something though she could hear none of it, mouthing threats and curses. The maester bounded upwards at one, his face red with fury, face contorting into a mass of curses. Podrick flinched, his sword faltering, but Arya betrayed no emotion, she merely stared, steely grey eyes piercing the maester like a lance. When pods sword arm drooped in fear, Arya returned by stepping forward and cracking her pommel over the maesters cheek. The small grey man collapsed into a heap, his face bloody and bruised. 

Arya loomed over him and mouthed a handful of words then stared, emotionless into the mans eyes, his face now stricken with fear, he nodded hurriedly and scuttled from the room. Arya turned to pod and mouthed a sentence making pod near run from the room. 

Brienne's hearing was returning. She heared the patter of pods feet down the hall, the wind whistling through the rafters, she tried to raise a hand but could not find the strength for more than a shrug, Arya's face turned to her, dark and serious. She hurried across the dark room, sunk her face close to Brienne's and stared in, eyes of steel looking through her. She moved her hand up cupping her face. 

"Rest knight, rest." 

Brienne's eyes drooped, barely open, Arya brushed her straw-like hair from her forehead, still cupping her bruised face. She could feel Arya's warm breath on her cheek as she fell back into the darkness, oddly contented. 

\------------

The wolfswood again, but now it burned, an inferno, men, horse and tree burn alike in the ruby flames. She ran, every breath felt like an arrow shaft pierced her. She ran, ran like the trident through the twisted, burning branches, their arms like hot irons whipping her face as she bounded through them. 

She heared men scream as they burned, bound to the trees, their faces contorting and bubbling in the heat, their armour melting into their skin. 

She bounded through that snag of branches to the same horrific sight, the kingslayer hanging, struggling from an ancient oak. His feet flailing, then, snap! Jaime went limp, his face purple and bloated, eyes trickling blood. That dark creature, twisted, dead and rotten, caressing the taut rope. She would scream a howl of despair and hate but not of her own, a howl far darker than she could muster, a direwolfs death rattle, that hooded creature turned to her, it's hood large and rotten, it's face shrouded but she could see its throat, slit to the bone. A flash of lightning let light cascade into its hood, that face. 

Those eyes colourless and dead, hair grey and frail. It's face rotten and blotched, but still recognisable. Darkness loomed again, it's face vanished, it advanced, glided towards her paralysed body, like a living shadow, it's rotten hand snapped to Brienne's chin, it's rancid, taut skin rubbing her cheek. It leaned in. 

"Traitor!" The Creature said, barely a whisper. 

Another flash of lightning lit up its face, Brienne's face contorted with fear at the sight, she knew that face, no matter how rotten and gaunt she knew the face of the one she swore her sword to. 

Another flash........... Catalyn! 

 

\------------

 

Brienne awoke in a sea of ice cold sweat, shaking with fear. She tried to sit up but the slightest movement churned her stomach, she reached for the small table by her bed, the movement was one too many, her stomach growled and her throat filled with bile, she doubled over the edge of her bed and with a sickening retch let the foulness flee her. She retched like a sickly child, doubled over and sweating, involuntary tears streaking her face. 

She could hear the pounding of footsteps in the hall outside her small dark room, like charging cavalry. She retched again as the door burst open, she could not turn to see who entered, though she need not anyway. As another retch escaped her followed by the bitter foulness she felt soft hands caress her back, soothing her as she befouled the dark stone floor. 

Once the last retch escaped her and she sighed in relief the soft hands turned firm as they helped her back to a sitting position, she saw their owner then, a small dark girl, brown-black haired, sullen of face with eyes of purest grey, Arya. 

She lay Brienne on her back, caressing her arms and neck as Brienne made herself comfortable on the straw-stuffed mattress. Arya pulled the furs to Brienne's chest. 

"It won't be the last time the sickness will take you." Arya said as she raised a damp cloth to Brienne's lips, wiping the sick away. "Your wounds were severe, I would be surprised if an infection didn't take hold." 

"My lady, what of the hound, is he fallen too?" Brienne gasped through erratic breaths. 

Arya lowered the cloth and put it aside, "The hound still lives, although his wounds were far worse than yours, and my name is Arya, I'm no lady." 

Brienne gave a knowing smile, remembering herself saying the same words to Arya's mother, lady catalyn, no, she mustn't think of catalyn now, not after those dreams. She rose her hand to Arya's and gasped, "what of pod?" 

Arya's face turned to a shy smile, "the tactless boy yet lives, although given how inept he is in combat, that may not last." Arya chuckled as she rose. Brienne could feel the sarcasm in her voice. She wanted to rise to her feet and look for pod but her muscles betrayed her, the thought of movement made her legs ache. She resolved to rest, regain her strength.  
She let her body melt into the bed, her eyes grew heavy and soon slumber took her.

 

-o-

 

Arya hurried down the hall, she had resolved to wait until Brienne slept to send pod to clean the mess. She couldn't let her see pod until she was back in strength, his state may unnerve her, pod had suffered some slight maiming upon their taking of this inn.

~o~

 

As he saw them tumble over the plateau's edge pod lost all sense of the world his eyes fixed on the space his master had just taken. Arya bounded to him, gripping his arms and shaking, shouting for him to help her save them but he was gone, lost. His head lolled as she shook him, her shouts deafened to his ears. His mind swimming with visions of his masters broken, bloody body, her brilliant blue eyes pale and glazed, still open, staring. His mind flooded with sorrow, regret, anger and guilt. 

Arya's frustration shattered, she grasped his arm with her right hand, still shaking and struck him with all her might with her left. He coiled at the strike, his senses returning, his eyes darted to Arya. 

"Help you fool!" Arya yelled as she ran down the hill herself. "Help them!" 

"Aye" Pod said, letting out a sigh of relief at finally being given directions. He bolted down the steep hill with the gusto of a yearling. Surpassing Arya as he went. The grass was slick from dew, yet rocky, it appeared to crumble as he went. His feet kicked up clumps of mud as he pounded his way down the hill. he pivoted on his heels as he reached the foot of the cliff, he could spy the glint of steel in the distance.   
He ran, the muscles of his legs searing, but he did not care, he must help her, help them. 

The sight that greeted him made his stomach flee, his master lay before him, bloody and bruised, her armour dented and split, some parts missing, strewn across the grass around her.  
Her breastplate had a dent as large as a piglet within it, whatever made it must of shattered every rib she had. Her tasset was torn and her gorget was gone altogether. 

He lent down and pressed a ear to her lips, a gentle breath filled his ear. He let out a great sigh as the confirmation of her life was given. He was almost happy the pain in his legs returned, the panic was abetting. Then terror struck him again like an arrow shaft. 

"BOY!" Boomed a snarling voice, full of anger and poison. 

Pod turned, his back bolt upright. He saw the source of that evil voice, a giant of a man, caked in blood, blackened armour and face seared like a mutton chop, the hound. Pod had thought Brienne's injuries bad, but his were far worse, he was caked in blood, armour shattered and a bone jutting from his left leg. "How does he not scream" pod thought wondering why this hound did not howl in agony. 

Pods mind flooded again, he looked from the hound to Brienne then to the hounds sword, merely a foot from him. "He did this" pod thought, the temptation to take up that sword and hack the dog to pieces. He would have if the hound had not seen it first. 

"Go on boy, do it, take my head!" The hound growled, blood curdling in his mouth, falling from his lips in chunks. "Go on, take it and hit me, right there!" He said twisting his neck to the side, baring his throat. "DO IT!" He screamed, the agony creeping into his voice like poison. 

Pod turned and reached out his hand for the swords hilt when a flash of silver smacked his hand away. 

Arya stood there, Oathkeeper in hand. "Not today dog, if you would die I would do it myself" Arya said as she lent down to Brienne, unclamping her belt and scabbard. Fastening it to her own waist and sheathing Oathkeeper. 

The hound mumbled something under his breath but it was unclear and shrouded by his faint groans of pain. 

Arya reached over and tore a strip from pods cloak, taking it to the hounds leg, twisting it around and tying one end. Pod did not react, he was far to busy cleaning his masters wounds, pouring water through the slit on her cheek, washing away the mud and twigs. 

Arya snatched the waterskin from pods hands and shoved it to the hound. He snatched it up and drained it quickly, pouring the last of it over his face, washing away some of the blood. 

"I will watch them, get the horses!" Arya yelled to pod, her hands loosening the crushed pauldron upon the hounds shoulder. "Aye" said pod reluctantly as he stood, bolting up the cliff to the bound horses, he untied them and led them across to the hill, halfway he saw a glint in his eyes, he turned to see a few rubies strewn on the ground. "Must have been thrown from Oathkeepers pommel during the fighting" he thought as he lent down and scooped them, he would not let even a part of his master be stolen. 

He led the horses down the steep hill, the large black destrier was unsettled by the loose ground, nearly spooking twice. As he reached the bottom he could see Arya helping the hound to sit upon a rock. Arya beckoned him close. As he approached he noticed the hound slump, "He must have finally fainted from the pain" He thought as Arya took the black destriers reigns in hand and beckoned pod over. 

"Help me boy, he's heavy!" Arya said as she heaved the hound to her shoulders, barely holding him upright. He thought she may collapse under the weight. 

Pod ran across and heaved the Hounds other shoulder. "He must weigh as much as an aurochs" pod thought as they lifted him to the saddle, almost buckling under his weight. The horse was far from pleased by the Hounds slack weight, this back bowed unnaturally. To keep from crippling the horse the bound his legs to the saddle and bridle to stop him slipping. Once he was bound they moved to Brienne, strewn upon the slick grass. They heaved her to the saddle and bound her the same, she weighed less than the Hound but not by much. 

Once all was collected, armour, weapons and saddlebags alike they mounted the destriers and rode off. 

-o-

They rode south with an all engulfing fervor. Whipping past ancient oak, willow and birch like spears of wind. The poor horses ridden to their deaths. The white mare died first, momtents away from the inn, "The Speckled Hen" it was called. A dark and dank place, large but shallow, drawn, the walls almost looked gaunt, their pale clay weather worn and cracked. 

It let out a great huff and with a dry thump, fell to its knees, head slack and motionless. They unbound Brienne and lay her to rest against her fallen horse. As pod fussed with the saddlebags Arya sidled across. 

"Stay here, watch them I'll go see if theirs any help up ahead. Arya said, glancing from pods eyes to the inn. "If anyone comes this way take the hounds blade, defend them, understand? Defend them!" 

Pod nodded and mumbled words of courtesy. Arya slide the ugly greatsword to his feet, and with that, bolted up the loose mud road. Her footsteps were silent, even in the damp mud. Her form gracefully, flowing almost beau- "No! I must not let my mind wander." Pod whispered under his breath, shaking his head and glancing to the hound, still asleep atop his great black destrier. His eyes trailed down his shattered body to his leg, a shard of jagged, milky white bone stuck from his thigh. His eyes turned to Brienne, propped up against her dead horse, face and armour slick with blood, it's once black sheen now glistened crimson in the dying light. He turned from Brienne's bloodied face to the hound. "He did this" he thought as that same feeling of utter hatred filled him again. "I should run this dog through and leave him to the crows" he thought as he glanced down to the huge blade at his feet. He bowed down and grasped the hilt, it was heavy and coarse but so very sharp. He rose to lift it but his thoughts of anger were washed away when a blood curdling scream echoed through him, he knew that scream, Arya. 

He bounded to his feet, blade in hand and bolted up the muddy road to the inn. Bursting through the old wooden door he saw a sight he wished could not be seen. 

One man, fat and bald lay flat on the floor with needle driven hilt deep in his chest, he turned to the noise. Arya knelt, bent over a table, a man stood behind her, locking her wrists behind her back and swatting at her flailing legs as he fumbled with the laces of his britches, chuckling and cursing. 

Pods body went numb as he heaved the great blade above his head and brought it down upon the man, he felt the wet thump as the blade stopped, the dull crack of bone. when he opened his eyes the man stood before him, limp, the blade buried deep in his chest, near split in two, his head slowly drooping to one side, letting the wound open. Arya slid free of the mans corpse and reached for Oathkeepers hilt, slashing at the next man to charge, opening his face from forehead to collarbone. 

Pod let go of the greatswords grip and stumbled back, staring at the cleaved man slowly splitting in two before him. He was bolted back when another man tackled him to the ground, pounding his fists into pods face and chest. Pod scrambled for his dagger, driving the cruel iron dirk up, into the mans groin, the man howled in agony as pod flipped him over and drove the dirk deep into his eye.   
He went limp, blood trickling from his eyes as pod stood, still glancing between the cleaved and stabbed man. 

 

Another two charged Arya but she cut them down in short order, opening ones stomach and the others throat. She took their daggers and slid them into her belt. Pod still stood, glaring at the dead men when a half crazed woman lunged toward him, bringing a curved dagger down upon his face. 

He fell back as the great searing pain shot across his face. The mad woman brought the blade over her head again and as it stood pale and crooked when the woman suddenly jumped, retched blood and Arya emerged behind her, raising an old dirk to her throat, carving it from end to end.  
The woman's arms went limp and the dagger slipped from her grip. Falling to the floor like a stone, taking a chunk of the woman's nose with it. Pod snatched the blade from the floor and drove it thrice into the dead woman's skull, rage and pain flowing from him in waves. The last fighter charged Arya, who simply stepped aside and tripped him, pod caught his weight and drove his dagger up through his chin, blood seeping over his hand and down his wrist. 

 

Once the fighting was done both spotted an old man in grey robes emerge from the kitchen, metal chain ringing loudly as he walked. They bounded on him, pinning him against a beam. 

"Are you a maester" Arya demanded, blade in hand. "Are you trained in the healing arts" pod stuttered calmly, the old man nodded fervently. "Good, pod! Bring them in, Now!" Arya hissed as she dragged the maester up the stairs. Pod bounded out of the near shattered door and down the old muddy road, to Brienne's side. He heaved her up over his shoulders, her armour cutting into the soft flesh of his collarbone, leading the hounds destrier up the road as well. 

He finally broke the splintered door as he burst through with Brienne, he bounded up the stairs, not caring for her weight or size. Arya pointed him to a room as she ran past to help the hound. 

He entered the small drafty room, it's cold stone floor and straw filled bed seemed almost like heaven to him. He lay Brienne softly onto the stiff bed, wiping the blood from her brow with his sleeve. "Pod!" Came Arya's voice from downstairs, he took one last look at her face and hurried from the room. 

~o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the wait I was slightly distracted by the new destiny beta, sorry. 
> 
> (No regrets!)
> 
> I thank all of you for viewing my folly, please do leave comments, praise, criticism and ideas are all welcome.
> 
> Till next we meet. 
> 
> Valar Dohaeris


	3. Orphans Lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! 
> 
> Arya POV this time, i thought I'd venture more into the main story of this tale. Although there's plenty of violence to sate your desires, anyway what's ASOIF fanfic without a "little" blood.
> 
> Enjoy and do please comment.

Chapter III: Orphans lot.

 

Fear, the Strangers own cold fingers running up your spine, cold and lifeless. Syrio had told Arya not to let herself feel fear but as she rode, the hound slumped over her back, his wretched face caked in blood she could feel the fear coursing through her, creeping into her very core. 

The boy, podrick, he was a fine squire, even when his master had fallen he rushed to her aid, not knowing whether or not she lived. As fine as he was she could see the fear in his eyes, he hadn't been taught to control it, it flowed from him in waves along with hate, hate for the hound, hate for anyone who would hurt Brienne. When the boy reached for the hounds blade she had half a mind to let him take it, to let him end the hounds wretched life. But over their journey she learned more of him, after Biter took a chunk from his neck and she put needle through that monster Rorge's heart, he final told her why he was as he is, why he likes killing and why he hates his brother.  
He told her how Gregor pushed his face into a brazier over a toy, a carved knight, how his face melted, how the smell of his own charred flesh still haunts him and how when the men pulled Gregor away how he wanted to run the coal stoker through him, wanted to gut him, burn him, drown him. How he has wanted to kill his monster of a brother every day since and how each time he takes a life he sees Gregor's face, smiling as he presses his face deeper into the flames.

She almost pitied him, he has seen so much horror, and caused his fair share. She would have let the boy kill him but she couldn't let him die, not like that. If he was to die it will be by her hand.

"He who passes the sentence should swing the sword" her fathers words echoed through her mind as she lightly stroked Needle's hilt. He had said it often, "our way is the old way." He would say, "if you are to put a man to death, you owe him to look him in the eye and swing the sword yourself, there is no honour in having others kill your enemies." She had always wondered on that, she was never taken to executions but she knew what happened, her father took many lives, in and out of war but never took pleasure in it.

 

She could see the old mare slipping, her legs lax and head drooped. "Shit!" She sighed as the horse collapsed to its knees. She hopped from the black destriers back, letting the hound slump further, bounding over to help pod untie Brienne. 

She could see the inn up ahead, dark and weather worn. " Stay here, I'll go see if there's any help up ahead." She told the boy, looking towards the old building. She drew the hounds greatsword from her horse and slid it across to pod, "If anyone comes this way take the Hounds blade, defend them, understand? defend them!." He turned and nodded, and with that she bounded up the soft mud road, filth caking her old boots.

She pushed through the rotten oak door, she could hear it crack as it went. Inside were a group of gruff men, " freeriders most likely" she thought and looked to a plump old woman at the bar, "the innkeep" she thought. She started towards the innkeep but bawdy laughter cut her off. 

"What's a sweet little girl like you doing out here?" Came a high, bawdy voice, she turned to see a tall, thin man with a rough leather jerkin, old leather britches, tatty old boots and a rough spun cloak so threadbare she thought it a shift. "Same as you, freeriding." She sneered, staring into his round brown eyes. 

As she turned again she saw another man, fat and balding with the same rough attire as his friend. "Little girls shouldent ride out alone, it could be dangerous." He said in a wet, raspy voice, his eyes raking up and down her like a hungry shadowcat. 

"I bet she could warm our beds tonight boys, we would keep her safe." Said the thin man as he reached out and grasped her arse. She spun around on her heel, drawing needle and stuck it through the lecherous pigs heart. The man gave out a high screech as he fell, she tried to pull needle away but it snagged on his chainmail hauberk, wrenching needle from her hand.

"Bitch!" Boomed the fat man, he clubbed his pudgy fist across her head and wrapped his arm around her waist, yanking her into the air. "I'll stick you with a sword of my own for that you little cunt!" He boomed, slamming her onto a table, holding her arms behind her back.

Holding her arms with one hand he plunged his other between her legs, she screamed, less a scream, more a howl, a ear piercing howl that made even the fat man recoil.

"Shut it girl or I'll slit your throat and fuck your corpse!" He said, clubbing his fist across her head again. She flailed her legs, hoping to hit his face or balls, but to no avail, he merely swatted away her legs. "Get off!" She cried, flailing her feet again as he tugged her britches down.

"You ever been fucked little girl?" He said as he fumbled at his laces. "Cause' I'm gonna tear your little cunt apart" he chuckled into her ear. 

Then she heared a great crash, the door splintering. She saw the other men staring, wide eyed behind her, then a sickening thud as the fat mans grip loosened. She could feel the warm trickle of blood against her bare arse as she wriggled free. Pulling up her britches she saw another man charge towards her with a rusty war axe, she snatched for needles empty scabbard, then to Brienne's sword, the Valyrian blade. Drawing it she could see the smoky blade shine in the candlelight. It was lighter than even needle, it's grip supple but firm, she flicked the blade at the charging freerider, letting the blade carve him from cheek to collarbone like cutting cheese.

As the man flailed to the floor, two more charged her, one with an old dirk and the other a mace. She brought the blade across ones belly and the others throat, snatching away their dirks as they fell. 

She turned then to see her saviour, podrick, the faithful squire with the hounds greatsword buried in the fat man, blood speckled on his face and tunic and a man dead at his feet, his throat pulsing blood. She looked wistfully at him, wondering how he got here, how he was put in Brienne's service and why he helped her.

Her thoughts were broken when a mad old woman burst from the stairwell, a curved dagger In hand charged pod, bringing the ugly blade down across pods face. 

She bounded on her, drawing an old rusted dirk. As the woman raised her dagger again she raised her own, to the woman's throat, pulling it's jagged, rusted blade across her throat, more tearing than slitting. 

As the woman fell she saw pod snatch the woman's dagger and drive it savagely thrice into the corpses face. "Seven hells" she thought as she beheld his ferocity, she could almost feel the hate flowing from him, not to mention the blood flowing from his face.

She turned to see a final man charge her, his sluggish frame making him waddle as he ran. She simply stepped aside, foot outstretched, he tripped over her, tumbling forward. Pod caught him and drove his dagger up through the his fat chins.

As they tried to rearrange themselves, pod yanking the greatsword from the fat mans bisected corpse and Arya noticing her britches had fallen again, pooling around her ankles, pulling them up she saw pod hadn't noticed, she could feel a blush coming, she wondered why she was embarrassed, pod had just seen her kill five people why should some bare skin matter. She yanked her britches up regardless, fumbling with the laces.

As she freed needle from the thin mans chest she heared a metallic rattle, looking up she saw a small man in grey robes emerge from the inns kitchens, large metal chain draped around his neck and face as white as fresh northern snow. She glanced to pod before bounded on him, drawing Brienne's blade. Pod followed her, curved dagger in hand.

They pinned the small man against a beam, raising their blades to his throat. "Are you a maester?" She demanded. "Are you trained in the healing arts?" Asked pod, oddly calm.  
The maester nodded fervently seeing the Valyrian blade at his throat. She lowered her blade, still gripping the maesters scruff. "Good, pod bring them in, now!" She hissed as she dragged the maester up the stairs. Pod nodded and bolted out the door. "He's faster than he looks" she thought. 

She dragged the maester up the old, creaking stairs, throwing him through the nearest door.  
"Please!" The maester pleaded as he recovered from the fall, "who are you?" 

She merely stared at him, his rich brown eyes filled with tears. "No one!" She hissed as she slammed the door, bolting it shut, she couldn't let him escape or they would die, Brienne, the hound, even the black destrier.

As she made her way down the hall she saw pod, carrying Brienne up the stairs, her huge frame twisted around his but he seemed not to care, he heaved her stair by stair, her armour cutting ridges into his neck. "He's stronger than he looks too" she thought as she bounded past.

Outside the hound was still bound to his horse, slumped and twisted. She took the horses reigns in hand and led it to the stables. Binding the horse to the rack she started work on the straps holding the hound in place. Once they were all done she grabbed his huge frame and dragged it from the saddle, his huge body slumped onto her, his great weight pushing her back. Groaning, she yanked the hound to the ground, letting him splay out on the hay. 

Lifting herself from the ground she grasped his shoulders and pulled, dragging him inside, arms hurting, once he was inside she tried to lift him over her shoulders but the weight nearly crushed her. Feeling the pain set in she slumped into a chair and starred at the hound, "why am I trying to save him, I should let him rot for what he did to mycah?" She asked herself as she stared at his broken body. 

Shaking the thoughts from her mind. "Pod!" She called as she stood. 

The boy came bounding down the stairs, "help me with him, you take his shoulders, I'll take his legs." She said reaching for the hounds ankles, "aye, milady" said pod as he reached for the his shoulders. Arya let a quick glare escape her, she truly hated being called "my lady".

They dragged the hound up the stairs, his massive weight buckling her knees. They carried him along the hall, his arse scraping the splintered wood floor, stopping for a moment outside Brienne's room, she saw Brienne laying almost serene on a straw mattress, her armour still caked in blood. 

They continued for two more rooms before finding a suitable chamber. It's walls were round and it's ceiling high, "this must be the tower room" she thought, she had spied a tower when she approached the inn. Dumping the hound onto the straw stuffed bed she quickly started work on his remaining armour, unbuckling the greaves and pauldrons and unstrapping the tasset and lamellar breastplate. Once the armour was gone she removed his under shirt to reveal his wounds. She almost winced at the sight of the bone jutting from his thigh, glistening in the waning sunlight.

Standing she turned to pod, "Get the maester, he can treat the wounds." She told him, he merely stared at her. "I must help Lady Brienne with her armour, I must dre-" she cut him off. "Go get the maester!" She hissed "I will help Brienne." She pushed her way out of the room and down the hall. Leaving pod behind.

Once she found Brienne's room she shut the door behind her. Lowering herself to Brienne's side she started to remove the warrior woman's armour. Pauldrons, greaves, vambraces, tasset and breastplate. Her gorget had been torn off in the fall and was stowed away in one of the old, ragged saddle bags. 

She piled the armour neatly in the least damp corner and returned briskly to Brienne's side, she could see the oily black staining of blood on her thick woolen tunic. She removed Brienne's besmirched garb and cast in aside, turning back she saw Brienne lying there in only her sheer linen smallclothes, she felt a tingling in her stomach and a strange ache between her legs. She had only felt the aching once before, when she and the hound stopped a night at an inn, when a whore in a old red velvet dress had perched herself on their table and bent low, her bodice unlaced, letting her breasts spill out. when she had smiled at Her Arya had blushed redder than Tywin's own cloak and the whore had blushed back, batting her eyelashes, almost seductively. Nothing happened that night, she slept in a straw bed, not as soft as feather but far better than packed mud and the hound had moaned no more than usual.

She wondered what may have happened if she had sought out the whore that night. She was no stranger to the actions of sex, she had seen dozens of women raped in Harrenhal and the Direwolves had rutted in Winterfell's bailey a few times. Not to mention the guards had always talked of it, how they did it, where they did it, who they did it with, but she had no experience herself. It seemed almost funny to her that she, the wild girl of the Starks was still a maid while Sansa was likely great with Joffrey's bastards by now. A drunk had grabbed her arse once in an inn in the riverlands, she struck him about the face with a drinking horn, and that was before the hound found out. He had grabbed the little man by the throat and pinned him, at least three feet off the floor against a beam and asked him calmly if it was true.when he had nodded the hound curled his other huge hand around the mans head and drove it into a table, braking his face and sending a mouthful of rotted brown teeth shooting across the room, they slept in silence that night, everyone too scared to speak. 

She had heared stories of some women who preferred the company of other women in their beds from Winterfell's library and in old tales of the Dornish warrior queens from the Age of Heroes. She had liked those tales, of how these great warrior queens would take women for their concubines, seeing their men too feeble to pleasure them. She had even named her Direwolf after one of them, "Nymeria". 

She strayed to ponder, "Where is Nymeria now?" She wondered "Does she still liv-" No!, she mustn't let her mind wander. She shifted her gaze back to Brienne, even now naked and blood soaked she looked a truer knight than those kingsguard puppets or Tywin's mad dogs. 

She had always know she disliked the company of men, her father and brothers were an exception, she loved them as she had loved Jory, His father Ser Rodrick, Theon and even Gendry but she would never "love" them as her mother loved her father, she knew men and their man bits displeased her. Even though she knew men were not to her taste she had never liked any of the girls in Winterfell, all those "proper ladies" had disgusted her and her them but here she stood, strangly aroused by the near naked warrior woman laying before her. 

She stood awhile, taking in the view before her. She knew both men and women would see Brienne as ugly, as they thought her ugly but as she lay there, her large, muscluler frame and hair like straw where far more beautiful to Arya than any dress. Of all Brienne's features her eyes were her favourite, as Brienne's eyelids fluttered with sleep Arya glanced her Great, blue eyes, like burning sapphires. "Beautiful!" Arya sighed as she gently stroked Brienne's soft cheek. As the strange ache worked deeper into her, filling her core with heat and passion she let her hand cup Brienne's loving face. 

A loud crack dragged her from the thoughts, the dry cracking of wood. She rushed from the room, her hand clasped firmly at needles hilt. Pounding down the hall to the balcony she passed pod, his face as colourless as hers, he grasped at the greatswords hilt, dragging it along, barely a foot from the floor.

They reached the stairs together, staring down at the raiders as they flooded in, already stripping the corpses of boot and coin.

"Raiders, we must stop them, they shall steal our horses" whispered pod to Arya, his voice shaking with fear. 

"Aye but we don't know how many they number, we cannot take more than ten men alone, they shall gut us like deer" Arya said, her eyes narrowing on one raider as he fondled the mad woman's corpse. 

Pod lifted his head over the bannister quickly, glancing at the men, his eyes flicking from one to the next. "I count four, milady." Pod whispered as he lowered himself again. "We should be able to take them if we surprise them." 

Arya glared at pod, she truly hated being called "milady". ” by "we" you mean me, you can hardly lift that thing." She said quickly "and don't call me "milady"." Drawing needle.

"I must mil-, Arya I have no other weapons, unless you mean to send me with only a dirk." He said calmly, lowering the greatsword lightly. His eyes drooped sadly, almost disappointed thought Arya. As he reached for his dirk she stopped him, gripping his wrist, "No' use this."  
She said, pressing needles hilt into his hand. "But be careful, Needle is all I have of home.  
And with that she rose, drew Oathkeeper and crept down the stairs.

From behind the balustrade she saw four men, clad in ragged boiled leather and wielding rusted longsword looting the bodies of the dead, one even had his hand up the mad woman's skirt, her face shattered by her own dagger. Bile rose in her throat as the raider put his lips around the corpses teat, she decided he would die last, and painfully. 

"Now!" She whispered to pod as she crept out behind a tall man with long brown hair, raising her blade she glanced to pod, he was behind a short, bald man with a round, pink face and an unkempt moustache, he stared back, his eyes begging for instructions. She nodded and in tandem they drove their blades through the men, pods through the small mans back and out his belly and Arya's through the tall mans neck, the blade sticking through his gaped mouth.   
They both fell without scream or cry but the thud of their landing alerted the others. They stood a moment, shocked at their friends deaths, then quickly drew their swords in blind fury. 

Pod yanked needle from the bald mans belly and charged one man, needle raised above his head like some warhammer. "Boy will get himself killed like that" thought Arya as she slid Oathkeepers blade slowly from the raiders skull, staring at the last raider, the corpse fucker, waiting for his move.

He just stood there, staring at pod thrusting Needle in and out of his friend. She stepped forward, raising Oathkeeper further. His stare turned to her, he stared a second then she saw his eyes flick to Oathkeeper before widening, he dropped his blade and ran, Arya could have sworn he pissed himself. She bounded after him, slashing his left calf as he climbed over what had once been the inns door. He screamed in agony as he fell, clutching at his piss stained leg, she crouched over him, straddling his flailing body and brought Oathkeepers gilded pommel across the raiders face, knocking him unconscious.

She turned as she rose, glancing pod wiping blood from his brow with his sleeve. "Lock him in the cellar." She said motioning towards the unconscious raider. "And don't let the maester treat his wounds" she said as she climbed the stairs. "Aye mil-... Arya." Pod stuttered as he reached for the raiders ankles.

She hurried to Brienne's room, mopping at the speckles of blood on her tunic. Rushing to Brienne's side she let her hand cup Brienne's chin, "this is what a true woman looks like" she thought aloud. The strain of combat hit her quickly, her arms fatigued from the days fighting and her legs sore from the hard ride. She lifted the thin blanket over Brienne and left, leaving the door ajar. 

Hurrying to her room she kicked off her mud-caked boots and slumped into her bed, letting the sheets envelop her. Darkness lowered over her eyes and sleep took her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm torn on which POV to do next, I may do more Arya or go back to faithful young Podrick. Or if your lucky Brienne. This story is starting to pick up now for me, I am thouroughly enjoying writing this and happy people like it.
> 
> I thank all of you for viewing my folly, please do leave comments, praise, criticism and ideas are all welcome.
> 
> Till next we meet. 
> 
> Valar Dohaeris


	4. Wolfs Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit longer and darker than usual. With a strong serving of wolf business. I apologize for the wait, this chapter was problematic to begin, POV choices and all. To all those who are squeamish of graphic violence, why are you reading this. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Also some new symbol directions. 
> 
> -~o~- signifies wolf dreams, warging, etc 
> 
> Enjoy and please do leave your opinions, I am curious to see what people think of my work. 
> 
> Also, inner monologues and thoughts will be highlighted with italics, I was tired of the confusion from using quotation marks for both speak and thoughts

Chapter IV: Wolfs Justice

 

 

\----- 

The scent of blood, sweet yet sickly filled Arya's lungs as she ran, her paws caked in rain soaked mud, thick and grained. She bounded left around a thick oak, pack at her side, a grey blur. One of her brothers was taken by a quarrel, taking him beneath the chin and spilling his life blood across the slick grass. 

She saw him, his blond curls and smug face made her gut clench. For Father, for Mother, for Robb and Rickon, for Bran and Lady and Yoren, for Mycah! She thought as she leapt, sinking her teeth into the foul boys throat. She slung her hind around him, dragging her sunken jaws about his thin neck, rending his throat. She hit the ground with a flat thump, letting herself tumble, deep crimson blood soaking her lips. 

As she rose she heard the boys wet sputtering. She turned, padding over to the boys pitiful body, broken and bloody, his throat a deep red ruin, blood spurting from it in timed jets. She brought her face to his, his glinting emerald eyes stained with blood and tears. She lowered her face, his frantic, choked breaths were warm on her nose. 

As his eyes drooped, tears fell from him like shards of pale ice and death slid its cold grasp around him she growled deep in her throat, baring her teeth to him, his eyes widened once more and a warm jet of blood spattered her chin, she glared once more into is emerald, fear drowned eyes before she slammed her great jaws around Joffrey's pale, pathetic face.

 

\-----

 

Arya burst from her sheets in a wave of confusion and sweat, her brow slick and face flushed, She fell back onto the straw, letting her breaths slow. The nights chill crept down her spine as she lay there, slicked with sweat. It must be nightfall. She thought as she stared around. The room was dark as pitch and the chill of night filled her room. She rolled to her side, flopping from the stiff bed onto the equally stiff wood floor, it's grain scratched at her skin. She cursed quietly as she rose, stretching her back. She padded softly to the small table alongside her bed, snatching up a pale candle and taper and strode quickly to the open window. She leaned far out of the window, pressing the candle into the faint embers of the old torch in a rusted sconce below her window. As she waited, pressing the candles tip further into the embers the icy breeze flowed down her spine, making her back tense. Once the candle struck into life she near flung herself back through the window, slamming it behind her.

Clutching the faint flame close to her chest, Arya padded back, she sat once more on the straw stuffed mattress. She blew lightly on the meagre flame, fanning it into life. Once the flame grew bright she placed it softly onto the small table, leaning back she spied the glint of steel from the corner of her eye. 

She leaned low and clutched it. It was long and smooth with a steel cap at one end, when she pressed it to the light she saw it was wood, but smooth as silk. It's been lacquered. She thought as it shone in the candlelight. As she held it in her palm it felt rather like a swords hilt, it grooved slightly halfway up its neck. It was smooth all over and blunted at one end, bulging slightly, while the other end was capped with polished steel. It must have been at least half a foot in length and smooth to the touch, and it had a rather strange scent, a familiar smell that Arya could not pin down. She observed it for a moment more then tucked it back down between the bed and table. 

Rising again she strode over to her ragged boots, slipping the loose leather on and strapping it close with a small belt. Before she left the room she cinched Oathkeeper to her waist and slipped a curved dagger into her boot. She paused at the door to straighten her tunic then opened the heavy wooden door lightly and slipped away.

She crept down the hall, silent as a shadow as Syrio had taught her. Padding down the old wooden stairs, letting out barely a creak as she went. Reaching the common room she spied the glint of steel in the far corner, she padded over silently. She round a mound of corpses, the bodies of those they had slain, the fat man lay on top, his chest cleaved in two from collarbone to naval. Bastard deserved far more. she thought, you died quickly, your friend won't be so lucky.

She spat on the lech's face and turned, heading for the kitchen. Opening the thick wooden door she could smell cold broth, onions, beef and carrot. She searched the kitchens for something to drink, eventually finding a small bottle of sour wine, she preferred water but none could be found and she wasn't fond of drinking puddle water. Or blood.

She plucked up two mugs and left, letting the kitchens heavy door slam behind her. She strode briskly through the common room, but as she strode a glint caught her eye. She paused, staring out through the splintered doorframe out into the darkness. Eyes, great golden eyes stared back. Wolves! She thought, slipping the wine and mugs down to the table near her and drawing the dagger from her boot. She crept carefully to the door, not letting her gaze leave those eyes. 

The eyes became larger, like great globes of molten gold. She clutched the dagger firmly, her left hand hovering over Oathkeeper's hilt as she stepped slowly to the doorway. The eyes grew larger and larger until a grey snout poked from the darkness, followed by an equally grey face. This was no mere wolf, it was near Arya's height with huge, powerful jaws and thick fur. A Direwolf.

Arya's stared, hands still clutching her dagger. The Direwolf padded slowly towards her, it didn't growl or bare it's teeth it just walked, slowly towards her. As she stared Arya felt a strange sense of recognition. It can't be she thought. But when the Direwolf finally stopped, sat on its haunches and cocked its head slightly to the side did Arya recognise her.

"Nymeria!" She cried, stooping low and beckoning her close. Nymeria bounded forward, stuffing her nose into Arya's chest, and licking her face. She dropped the dagger and embraced her, running her hands through her thick, grey fur and giggling at the sudden wetness of her face. "How did you find me" she asked, Nymeria cocked her head again and Arya could swear she shrugged her shoulders. Arya cooed as she stuck her face into her fur again, pulling her tight. 

Their embrace was broken when Nymeria pulled away, turned and growled. Arya looked outside again, their were a pack of wolves stalking up the road to them. One wolf, a large black furred male stalked close, eying Arya and baring his teeth. Nymeria growled, deep and dark. The black wolf backed away, he was big but not even half Nymeria's size. 

Arya stroked Nymeria's back, calming her and reached out a hand, beckoning the black wolf back. Nymeria growled again but Arya soothed her once more, beckoning the wolves close. The black male neared, glancing between her and Nymeria. She reached out and stroked the wolfs ear, petting it softly. The wolf softened at her touch, sniffing her hand and nuzzling her palm. More wolves neared, padding softly, all following the black males actions, she stroked each one and beckoned them in. My pack! she thought as she stroked a brown bitch softly behind the ear. Nymeria sat patiently, nuzzling Arya gently, sniffing her hair and licking her ears. 

Arya sat, surrounded by wolves with Nymeria at her side. She could have stayed there for hours, petting her new pack but pods blundering ended that. He came blundering down the stairs eyes heavy with sleep. "My lady, is there anyth-" he was cut of by the scream he let out as jumped back in fear. He landed with a resounding flop on his back, scrambling away. "My lady, the wolves! He stuttered, his face pale with fear. Every wolf sat up, staring at pod as he fumbled to his feet. And she could swear Nymeria guffawed. "They're fine pod, this is Nymeria and her pack." She said, stroking Nymeria again while trying and failing to silence her laughter. "Nymeria?" Pod asked, colour returning to his face though the fear hade not ebbed. "Aye, my Direwolf and oldest friend." She answered as she nuzzled Nymeria once again.

"Pod, Find some food for our pack" Arya asked

Pod smoothed tunic and bowed. "Aye my lady." He muttered and stalked away.

"And pod?" She called, "stop calling me "my lady", I'm no lady!" 

She sat there petting her pack again, the big black wolf sat to her right, sat on his haunches like Nymeria. Yoren she named him, his thick black fur and grey eyes reminded her of him.  
I won't let this Yoren die! she vowed to herself, scratching him behind his ear. 

Pod returned with a huge slab of salt beef, half his size. He lowered it carefully to the floor, near the pack and backed away, clearly terrified of the wolves. While Arya chuckled at pod Nymeria padded over to the meat, sniffing it curiously and took a small bite, then returning to her side. The pack descended on the meat hungrily, tearing it apart and scaring pod even more. 

Contented, Arya stood and strode from the common room to leave her pack to their meal, Nymeria and Yoren at her side. She snatched up the sour wine and mugs again as she went, ascending the stairs quickly and darting for Brienne's room, opening the stiff door gently and slipping through, Nymeria and Yoren followed. She set the wine and mugs down on the small table by the bed and turned, searching for a chair. She found an old rocking chair in a dusty corner, she brushed away the cobwebs and dragged it back, setting it a few feet from the bed. She poured two cups, one for her and one for Brienne, even though she still slept. She sipped hers gingerly, it was sickly sweet. Hippocras! she thought as she swallowed the foul wine, setting aside the rest. She looked to her wolves, Nymeria was laying at her feet, her head on her paws. While Yoren slept on his side. On the bed. 

Arya's head was swaying, heavy with sleep when pod entered the room, rubbing his hands nervously. "Do you need anything else my la- Arya?" He asked, stuttering her name. She shook her head and beckoned him out. He left without a word. With pod gone she lifted her feet to the beds edge, resting them near Yoren's belly. She rested her arms behind her head and let the sleep take her.

 

-~o~- 

 

So that's what my ears look like. She thought as she sniffed, tasting sweat and blood. And something else, something familiar. She sat a while, staring deep into her own, sleeping face letting her tail bat gently against her haunches. She had always been short, her brothers had reminded her on an near daily basis, always mussing her hair and telling how "Cute" she was.  
But Nymeria really was lacking in this respect, she may be a Direwolf but she still only came eye level with her own lounged, sleeping self. But she must seem a towering goddess to the others of her pack. Bored of staring listlessly at herself she padded away, out the ajar door and down the painfully creaky stairs. She would rejoin her pack, take their measure.

She found her pack fast asleep, lounged opulently over half the common room. Not a single table, bench or rug had failed to be claimed. A large brown bitch sat perched atop a long corner table, lapping slowly at a large mug of wine. Hippocras! she thought again in disgust, even now in wolf form the sickly sweet scent of that foul wine made her nose wrinkle. The bitch raised her head, drunkenly, to look upon her, only to slump down again, her head lolling. Arya left her pack to their peaceful rest, they look oddly hungry she thought as she padded away, being hunted by fat lordlings must not leave time to hunt. She padded to the splintered remains of the front door, she was still surprised pod managed to do so much damage. She breathed the night air in deeply, letting all the scents of the wilderness fill her lungs. Wood, grass, water, cinnamon and an overwhelming stench of horseshit. She stalked out into the night, bound for the stables, but not of her own accord. Nymeria is as curious as I am she thought as she went, surprised at how she glided over the thick mud, barely leaving a trace. As enthral end as she was with Nymeria, the hounds destrier was far from keen. It neighed nervously as she approached, sidling away. 

Sensing her lack of welcome, Arya padded back through the darkness, gliding over the mud once more. She entered the warm inn with a slight shiver, it flowed from her scalp to her tail in one, marvellous wave. She bounded up the stairs in three huge strides, taking them four stairs at a time and stalked the length of the dark hall. Though she wanted to return to her own side, Nymeria was far more eager for the hounds tower room, she batted at the heavy door with one large paw. When the door merely creaked Nymeria hoisted herself onto her hind legs, slamming her body into the door, flinging it wide. She entered gingerly, every step as silent as shadow. One sniff of the hounds huge fingers told her he'd been given wine. Lots of wine

She sniffed him appraisingly, the reek of wine was fresh. His lips were still stained a deep red, though that could be from the blood. His lank hair had been bound back and a strange salve was smeared on his wounds. It smelled suspiciously of honey and chives. 

Arya left the dog to his sleep, stalking back down the hall to Brienne's room. She curled herself around her own feet, the soft, worn wool of her breeches felt warm against her hide. Letting her head settle on her paws she let herself slip into a deep sleep.

 

-~o~-

 

Arya awoke stiffly, her neck cracked loudly as she stretched. She nearly fell flat when she stood, Nymeria was still wound around her feet like a very large, warm slipper. She breathed softly as she slept. As she untangled herself from Nymeria's grasp pod crept into the room, scaring her when he choked up. "My lad- Arya, Maester Wylber requests your presence." He said, stuttering her name again. "Aye" she replied sleepily. The boy bowed quickly and left   
Boys still scared of Nymeria she thought, shaking her head as she slipped her boot back on, fastening them tightly to her leg. She slipped her dagger into her left boot carefully, leaving only the hilt jutting comfortably at her knee. She refastened Oathkeeper about her waist, cinching the supple red leather tight. She paused at the open door to wipe the sleep from her eyes with her ragged sleeve. She hoped Brienne would awake soon, she had so many questions. Dragging herself from the room, she strode lightly down to the maesters meagre chambers. 

As she reached for the door it flew open and the small, grey man emerged, a concerned look on his face. They clashed softly as he burst from his room, sending him tumbling onto his knees. "Pardons my lady" he said softly as he stood, Arya nodded curtly. "Forgive my intrusions my lady" he said, his fingers curling nervously around his long chain. "But I come to ask permission to tend to your prisoner, the scrawny one, bound in the cellar." She narrowed her eyes to his. "You won't treat that creature!" She said, trying to sound assertive. "The corpse fucking monster should suffer!" The Maester grimaced slightly at her words, though she could have said far worse. 

The Maester stood upright, letting his chest poke slightly through his loose robes. "My lady, I am a maester of the citadel, I am sworn to relieve suffering not condone it." Arya narrowed herself again, settling her face into her favourite scowl. "You are sworn to help men, that creature is no man" she hissed. I'm more a man than him. She thought angrily. 

"But my lady, i, i, i" the small man choked, his eyes writhing in his skull, searching for an answer. She was done with this. She leaned in, settling her eyes to his. "No!" She growled, surprised at the depth of her voice. 

The Maester opened his mouth to answer but let it hang, listlessly as he searched for a reply. Arya strode past him, her legs tensing with sudden anger. How can he wish to heal that thing she wondered. Letting her anger ebb she marched to the common room, intent on meeting her pack again. Seeking to laugh with them, let them curl about her. What she saw however was far more fun. 

She found in the room Podrick, hoisting a side of salt beef on his shoulder, surrounded on all sides by her hungry pack, his face pale as northern snow. A small grey pup neared him slowly. He pushed the beef out from him, throwing his head back with eyes sealed shut. The boy near split a man in half for me she thought, chuckling. But is terrified of a wolf pup smaller than a newborn babe. She laughed, her belly convulsing. "My- Arya, i, i-" pod stuttered. She started forward, the pack opened to her path. They know she thought warmly. The mass of grey, black and brown split in two as she strode, a dozen eyes staring up at her. She drew Oathkeeper as she reached pod, the boy swallowed drily at the sight of the smoky Valyrian blade. "Not for you" she reassured him, bringing the blade up. She brought the curved blade down on the salt beef, severing it in three swift strokes. She tossed the meat to her pack, they devoured it almost instantly. She tossed the rest onto a nearby table, it slammed heavily onto the rough wood, sending its spoons tumbling through the air. 

"Keys" she demanded, reaching out her hand. Pod drew a long chain from his tunic, a dozen keys clanged loudly. Arya noticed a few were blood stained and bent, she snatched them away regardless and started for the cellar. 

The cellar was a dark place, it's walls were stone and slicked with an icy sheen of water, it glistened slightly in the candle light. She could see the rust coloured streaks of dried blood that webbed the course stone floor. In one corner sat a small, dim candle, it was small and old, puddles of dried wax streaked the old wooden bench it sat on and a thick layer of melted wax puddled in its taper. The rest of the small room was cloaked in a deep, dusty darkness. She stared into the piercing darkness, searching. A faint clatter caught her ear, her head shot to its direction, she peered again. In the darkness she spied the faint glimmer of iron, a buckle or fastening. 

Arya charged forward, hand hovering over Oathkeepers hilt. She plunged her hands into the dark, grasping the course materiel of his tunic and pulled. Hard.

He was heavy, his chainmail thick. She tugged again, harder and with a sickening tear he came tumbling forward, shrieking with pain and clutching his leg desperately. Blood started to seep through his fingers to spatter her boot.

"Mercy! He screamed, "Mercy! Please, mercy! 

You will get mercy, she thought bitterly, of one sort or another.

"Please!, Please Milord, Mercy!" He pleaded, his tongue catching in his throat. Arya pulled again, more savagely than before. As much as she disliked being called "my lady" she hated being taken for a boy. 

The man was unfeasibly heavy for her, especially kicking and screaming. "Pod!" She called, if he could heft Brienne, he could carry this runt. The man flailed his bound legs, toppling casks and crates. Screeching all the while.

Suddenly the man thrusted forward, slamming his mailed shoulder into her back, unbalancing her. She spun, clutching for Oathkeepers hilt but thought again. Fear cuts deeper than swords she remembered. Letting Oathkeeper slip her grasp she wrapped her hand through his hauberk, gripping tight and pulled him up, lowering her face to his, settling her face into her favourite scowl. She stared into his eyes. They were bloodshot and dilated with a thin, rusty sheen of dried blood speckling his brow. He stared back, looking deep into her eyes, she studied his face again, his face had changed from pain to fear, his breathe suddenly erratic he struggled again, slipping her grasp. He hit the floor with a hard whump!, scrambling back from her. 

Pod came bounding down to her side. She turned to him, his eyes were a mixture of his usual fear, but mixed with curiosity. "I'll still him, you lift him." She said. Pod nodded reluctantly and advanced on the cowering runt. He wrapped his arms around the runts waist when he turned away in fear, lifting him to his feet. Arya ran her fingers through her hair, sighing and turned, drawing Oathkeeper. She placed the tip under the runts chin, he whimpered slightly. 

"Kick me again and I'll take your legs" she growled, hoping that look of utter fear would appear again. It did.

"Pod, take him outside, put him by the wall, the tall one." She ordered, sheathing Oathkeeper.

"Aye" he muttered back, dragging the runt from the room. I must talk to him Arya thought, he's changed since he butchered that fat lech. She resolved to talk to pod once her prayer was sated. She turned for the door, pausing when she slipped slightly in the runts river of piss. She followed its trail, leading up the few stairs and out into the common room. She huffed lightly, letting a smirk line her face. I faced far worse at Harrenhal, she thought, almost reminiscing I didn't piss myself. She thought again, seeing Rorge, Biter, Amory Lorch and Weese. She smiled again as the image of Weese' bitch tearing chunks from his ruined throat. 

'Hot pie did." she said, thinking of the piss river again. She remembered Hot pie, his fat face, lack of wit and obscene skill with pastries. I'll find him again she swore, there can't be many inns in the riverlands. 

Snapping from her memories she strode from the room, happy to leave the stench of piss behind. She strode briskly through the common room, glancing briefly to her pack. Pausing at the inns still shattered door, she snatched up a length of rope from a hook behind what remained of the door. Pausing again she whistled loudly, "Nymeria!" She called. Nymeria came bounding down the creaky stairs, a grey blur, letting out no noise. She shot to her side, staring up, concerned. Arya scratched her lightly behind her ears and left, striding into the small, muddy yard.

The day way bleak, the sky was grey, the air cold and damp. She glided lightly over the thick, patchy mud to her prisoner. His lank, blood slicked hair clung to his face and his mangled leg crimson below the knee.

She expected pleads for mercy, grovelling or a futile attempt at freedom. But none came, he sat, head bowed. She spotted the glint of tears running down his tunic. He knows his fate she thought gleefully, He thinks he knows his fate.

She stood over him, Oathkeeper in hand, it's smoky blade shimmered in the dull sunlight but his head didn't rise. She was never taken to sentencing at Winterfell, Robb, Jon, Theon, even Bran were taken but she was left behind to sit, miserably in her mothers solar failing at embroidery. But Jon had told her of it a few times, told her of how father held his sword, bowed his head and muttered his prayers, then struck. Oathkeeper was no greatsword like Ice but it reached above her belly button when balanced on its tip. 

"Name?" She asked lowly,He lifted his gaunt face to her, the tears had streaked through the filth of his face, dripping softly from his stubble and his eyes ruby red and swollen. 

"Rot" he answered bitterly, kicking away her foot. 

She lowered Oathkeeper, planting it's tip into the stiff mud at her feet. She pressed it to her belly and bowed her head, closing her eyes. "Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Meryn Trant, Ser Ilyn Payne, Ser Gregor, Queen Cersei, Rot." 

As she twisted her hand around Oathkeepers hilt, a heavy, soft hand planted itself on her shoulder, tugging he back. She wheeled around, flicking Oathkeeper into her hand, only to see Maester Wylber craned behind her. 

"My lady, I cannot let you do this!" He cried, clutching at her shoulder tightly. "You cannot just execute this man with no trail!" 

Arya stared back to him, staring coldly into his fat, round eyes. She shoved his hand away, not breaking her stare. "Maester, this creature raped the innkeepers corpse!" She hissed back, "you are a maester, sworn to fight illness. This thing is no different to the rot you cut from a wound, now stand aside." 

She shoved him back, turning back to Rot. The Maester stepped forward again but Nymeria growled, warning him off. She pressed Oathkeeper to her chest and uttered her prayer again.

"At least show him mercy, please my lady, show mercy!" The Maester cried again, interrupting her prayer. 

Arya sighed deeply, her back tensing, "fine, I'll show him mercy." she hissed, "but stop me again Maester and I'll add you to my prayer as well" The Maester huffed triumphantly and stepped away, half in victory, half in defeat. She sheathed Oathkeeper and called Nymeria to her side. 

"Rot" she called' "I'll show you the mercy of choosing your own fate." He perked his head up, tears still streaked, silently down his cheeks. "I'll ask you once, Death?" She asked, gesturing to Nymeria, who growled deep. "Or life on the wall?" She asked, beckoning to the gates.

He shot to his knees, blood still seeping from his ruined leg, "the wall!" He cried desperately, bowing his head. "Life on the wall milady, the wall, please!" He threw himself to her knees. What a fool! She thought bitterly He thinks I mean the black. He grovelled again at her feet, weeping. 

"The wall it is" she muttered. "Pod, lift him." He obeyed, grabbing Rot about the chest and lifting him to his feet. She stepped forward, rope in hand. She removed his old rope bindings and attached her own, tighter. His eyes darted around desperately and fear crept back into his face. She threw the other end of rope over a large notched timber inlaid at the top of the old wall. When it fell again she fastened the loose end to another notched timber inlaid at the foot of the wall, far more worn than it's sibling, but sturdy. Using the rope she winched Rot up, suspending him a few inches from the ground, his toes still scratched at the dry mud. Rot screeched in pain as she winched him, howling like a dying wolf. 

She turned to see Maester Wylber, a face of pure horror, being held at bay by Nymeria's snarls, she was near as tall as the small man, only adding to his fear. Pod was less frightened, more surprised, he had likely expected to saddle a horse today. 

" Pod, take the Maester to his chambers, now!" She demanded, calling Nymeria to heel. Pod struggled to drag his gaze from Rot's writhing form. "Now!" She cried again. He sprung to action, darting forward and dragging the Maester away as he stammered protests.

She turned to Rot, he writhed against the stone, flailing his legs. She drew Oathkeeper again, planted it to the ground, pressed it to her belly and began her prayer again.

"Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Meryn Trant, Ser Ilyn Payne, Ser Gregor, Queen Cersei, Rot." She muttered quietly, "Valar Morghulis" she called to Rot and turned, she took one step when Whack!, she staggered forward, nearly falling. She straightened and turned, Rot flailed his foot for her again, missing. She gripped Oathkeeper tightly and stepped forward, he flailed his leg once more, she dodged it effortlessly. He flailed again, she caught it with her right, a look of dread struck his face. Gripping tightly with her right she brought Oathkeeper down on his leg heavily, cleaving it away below the knee with the ease of slicing cheese. 

He screeched again, yanking his stump from her grasp and smearing blood up her sleeve.   
"Bitch! He howled in agony, flailing his stump, spattering her with blood. "I hope the Others take you, you little cunt!" She flicked Oathkeeper again, cleaving his other leg at the knee, sending small splinters of bone sprinkling onto the mud like drops of frozen milk.

He screeched again, higher then before with blood pouring into the mud, turning it from brown to deepest crimson. "Cunt!" He screeched again, "I'll fuck your little frozen cunt when they're done!" He bellowed, sending echoes off the stone wall. "You'll fuck nothing again!" She cried as she drove Oathkeeper between his legs, twisted the blade and dragged it down. 

He howled again, his mouth filling with blood. "Kill me!" He screamed, "Kill me!" Blood flowed from his mouth, following the path of his tears, streaking his face. "Kill meeeee!" He sputtered one last time. She eyed him, stared deep into his wretched face, blood streaked and twisted in agony. To his tunic, she stared deeply into it, it was a faded black, nearly grey. On it was a sigil, worn and faded but a sigil nonetheless. She leaned in close to study it, it was near faded away but she knew it, she had worn it on her breast as he did. The flayed man of House Bolton.

"Kill me!" He sputtered again, sending her blood into a boil. She clenched her fist and leaned in close, her face to his and hissed "No" 

She turned quickly and left, as he choked pathetic plea's of mercy. Nymeria at her heel. As she reached the inn, Maester Wylber burst through the door past her. She let him be. He ran to Rots side. She entered the inn to find pod, pacing the common room, Needle in hand. They stopped and stared silently at each other, hearing only a sputtered "thank you" and the wet thrung of steel on flesh, followed by a wet choking. 

They stood staring deeply into each other, not breaking their glare. The Maester trudged in slowly, hands and robes slicked with blood, a small curved dagger clenched tightly in his hand. 

"Your friends will die" the Maester said softly, raising the dagger to his own throat. Arya lunged, wrestling him down, and the dagger from his grasp. He didn't resist, just fell softly. She looked to pod, he stared back intently and nodded. She released her grasp as pod descended on him, hoisting the Maester to his feet and heft him to Brienne's chambers. Arya ran her fingers through her hair again and followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that went well wouldent you say, what's ASOIAF without a "hint" of genital mutilation.
> 
> I hoped you enjoyed my work, this chapter was an utter bastard to write. I tried not to make it too long winded. 
> 
>  
> 
> I thank all of you for viewing my folly, please do leave comments, praise, criticism and ideas are all welcome.
> 
> Till next we meet. 
> 
> Valar Dohaeris


	5. Wolves, why must it be wolves?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pod POV at long last, this time a differant perspective on the brutality of my last chapter.  
> And some explanations for earlier scenes.
> 
> This chapter is more plot driven, so no smut just yet. Plenty of violence though.  
> The saucier stuff is yet to come, hopefully within the next 3-4 chapters, sorry I'm a slow writer.

Chapter V: Wolves, why must it be wolves?!

 

Wolves, Pod thought despairingly, why must it be wolves?! He had always been terrified of wolves, their glowing eyes and huge jaws made his legs turn to jelly and his bowels to water. Thankfully not this time, he was far too scared to befoul himself. Lady Arya was laughing hysterically, keeling to one side, clutching at her ribs. Her laugh was a strange thing, high, giggly and childish, a far cry from her usual cold demeanor. He had come to admire Arya, she was like lady Brienne, a woman who despised the trappings of womanhood, proud and stubborn. And could swing a sword to match. But Arya seemed colder than Brienne, she was proud, honourable and relentless in battle but still a fine person. Very like Lord Tyrion, except the honour. But Arya seemed cold, like she despised all things, but she cared for the hound and Brienne. 

Once he finally and cautiously stood the thoughts of Arya faded, being replaced by the girl herself. 

"They're fine pod, this is Nymeria and her pack." She choked, failing to stifle her laughter. Nymeria, he knew that name. "Nymeria?" He asked tactlessly, hoping to sound less scared than he was. He failed, his voice was barely a course, dry whisper. "Aye, my Direwolf, and oldest friend." A huge grey Direwolf at her side cocked it's head to attention. He tried for an answer but his throat betrayed him, his mouth hung limp. Wordless. 

A long, wordless silence hung over the room, the air seemed thick with it. Arya broke the silence, mercifully. "Pod, find our pack some food" Arya called, stroking Nymeria from head to haunch. Habit took control and he bowed, sliding from the room. "Aye, my lady." He muttered quickly and instantly regretted it, bracing himself for his scolding. It came quick as ever. 

"And pod, don't call me my lady, I'm no lady." She hissed, still chuckling slightly. He cringed quickly and strode away, heading for what passed as a kitchen here. He had glimpsed it briefly, disgusted by the sight. It's tables were made of old, cracked wood. No more than driftwood, one good chop away from collapsing. He had managed to split the inns door in two, these tables stood no chance against the slightest of knocks.

The kitchen was a dark place, it had two windows and a hearth but the room seemed shadowed. He rummaged the room, searching for anything the wolves could eat. Meat, he thought desperately, Meat, bread, anything, Those creatures would scrounge through a funeral pyre. He scrambled through cupboards and pantries, finding only salt fish and cheese. The wolves could eat them but we need them. He thought as he eyed the dried fish. 

The panic subsided when he finally found a pantry with 4 large sides of salt beef. He hefted one of the heavy slabs over his shoulder and near ran from the room. The beef was stiff and coated with a thick layer of salt. He had eaten it before and had bad memories to show for it. It was so tough it needed to be boiled for hours to soften, even then being stringier than a harp.  
It had no real taste, good or bad but the tastelessness of it somehow made it worse than other, fouler meats. It hung in the mouth, bland and tough. Like tree bark, or boot leather.

The slab was huge, more than half his height, it stood above his waist and weighed as much. He had carried Lord Tyrion from the blackwater, but this was far more tiring, even without the armour.

He nudged the thick, stable-like door open with his knee, his other near buckling from the new weight. The wolves sat, heads cocked to attention. His heart gave a murmur as he looked upon them, his knees wobbling even more. He dragged himself slowly near the pack, his legs resisting each step. Among the pack he spotted a small grey pup, no bigger than a kitten, staring at him through curious eyes that twinkled in the candlelight.

Likely wondering why his next meal his legs, he thought quickly, before pushing the thought from his mind. He bent low, setting the slab near the pack, their hungry eyes following his every move. 

As much as he tried, he couldn't stop himself scrambling back when Nymeria padded towards him, sniffing the meat. 

Pod looked to Arya, she was curling her finger through a huge black wolfs fur. He bowed quickly and slide from the room, his heart pounding in his chest as the sounds of the pack, tearing the slab apart followed him. He lent himself against the balustrade, letting his heart settle. His fingers twitched as he stood. As his heart slowed he dragged himself, weak legged up the rotten stairs, each stair creaking louder than the last. His chambers were next to the hounds, he could hear his bed creaking at night as he writhed in his sleep. The Maester had looked to his wounds. He had smeared salve over his thigh, pushed the bone back into the wound and bound it with fine linen. The Maester had also given the Hound dreamwine, to ease his pain. He had asked to see Lady Brienne but Arya had ordered him away, he would see to it on the morn. 

He slunk, weak through into his room, collapsing onto his bed. Sleep took him immediately, as stiff as the bed was, it felt as soft and fine as silk and feather next to the hard earth he and Brienne had called home for the last fortnight. The thin, rough blanket seem like purest velvet against the warmth of his equally rough travellers cloak. His eyes were as heavy as the slab had been, he sunk into the straw as the warmth of rest cascaded over him, claiming him. 

)---(

Tap!, Tap!, Tap!, came the rap on his door. Pod let out a moan, his eyes heavy and legs weak.  
The whip of wind swirled through his lofty room, creeping under his sheets and into his bones. Tap!, Tap!, Tap!, came the rapping again, louder and more incessant. He groaned, frustrated into his pillow once more and dragged himself from the paradise of sleep. The chilling breeze crept up his legs as he waddled, unbalanced to his door. Tap!, Tap!, Tap!, Tap!, it came again.  
He flung the old door open angrily, revealing a flushed Maester, glancing up and down the hall while fondling his long, clanging chain. 

"Yes?!" He asked, unceremoniously, forgetting his courtesies. The small man recoiled slightly from the aggression of his question. "Yes, ahhh, ye-." The Maester struggled, "I come to request permission to help your prisoner. The one in the cellar." 

Arya had ordered him to lock the raider in the cellar, among the wine and rats. He had thrown the corpse raping filth through the door, letting him tumble painfully down the solid stone steps. He had bound the door with its thick iron chain, sealing it with a heavy iron lock he'd found among the remains of the fat man he'd cleaved in two. The thought still haunted him. He hung the key about his neck. "Lady Arya has ordered him bound, she has ordered he not be fed or treated." He let his arms settle into each other about his chest. The Maester flushed again, making his cheeks glow crimson. He'd looked like an over ripe apple, if not for the green tinge around his wrinkled throat. He jutted out his frail chest, jerking his back arrow straight trying to look imposing. And failing miserably. 

The small man was at least half a foot below him, his scalp brushing his collarbone. Pod was closer to six foot than five, but still childlike alongside Brienne or worse, the Hound. 

"I cannot allow this barbarity to continue," the frail man bellowed obstinately. "I order you, as a Maester of the citadel to release the prisoner immediately!"

Pod choked slightly, "lady Arya has or-" the frail man cuffed him about the cheek, his frail hand whistling. "Now you listen to me boy!" The Maester bellowed, pod narrowed his eyes, hate filled him again, he hated being called "boy". 

"You will follow my orders or I shall-" the Maester choked on his threats as pod returned is cuff, pounding his fist into the small mans chest, sending the Maester careening back.

"Ask lady Arya for your permission if you must, but call me "boy" again and you will realise just how old you are!" Pod boomed and strode away, clutching his twitching hand. The anger subsided once he reached the common room, in his anger and haste to flee he had forgotten the inn was infested with wolves. "Ahh!" He screeched as he opened the common rooms door to find a dozen half curious, half confused wolves staring up to him. He crashed to the floor, his back slammed to the door frame. 

His mind flooded with images of rent flesh and blood-soaked muzzles as half a hundred glowing eyes stared down at him. But none moved, they just stared. A grey blur caught his eye, he turned and every ounce of his being tensed as a small grey pup dragged a pale white bone to his finders, dropping it in his palm. The tenseness ebbed when the pup looked to him, huge yellow eyes, like two great moons on a grey sky staring up at him. And gesturing his snout to the bone. Food! He thought at last, dragging his eyes away. He nodded to the pack and climbed carefully to his feet. He strode through the sea of fur to the kitchen doors, creaking them open and sliding into the dark pantries. He rifled through to drawers agian, searching for the salt beef. He found them, still wrapped in linen and stuffed in a large cupboard near the stove. As he yanked the beef free he wondered, Did I just take orders from a wolf? 

The slab came free with a resounding groan. He hefted it to his shoulder and fled the dark room, sliding back through the heavy wood doors. The pack awaited him patiently, sitting on their haunches or lounging on the tables. He stared around as the pack stared, curiously at him. And hungrily at the meat.

He stood there confused for a while, staring into the haze of grey, hoping to find those great yellow moons again. A sharp nip on his leg made him tense again, he thrust his arms forward, holding the slab away from him, hoping they would take it. 

His fear was shattered by a familiar shriek of high, giggly laughter. He snapped open his eyes, seeing Arya, keeled against the balustrade laughing hysterically. He followed her gaze to his feet. There stood the pup, pulling playfully at his boot straps. 

"My- Arya, I, I,-" he stuttered, his voice filled with fear and embarrassment. 

Arya convulsed again, her hands still clutched to her ribs and stared forward, nearing him with every swift step. The pack parted at her feet, she strode amongst them as if they were a field of pansies, her legs cutting swarths through the sea of grey.  
She drew Oathkeeper and his body tensed again, eyes widening, confused. "Not for you." She reassured, still chuckling lightly and brought Oathkeepers blade down on the slab, shearing it in three solid strokes. She snatched the slabs from him, flinging one to the pack and the other onto a table, sending spoons into the air.

She wiped her hands on her breeches and stared up to him, "keys!" She demanded and thrust out her hand. He fumbled quickly for his chain, yanking it quickly from his bridgadine. It jingled lightly as he set it in her hand, her fingers worming through the gaps and snatching them away. Arya darted quickly for the cellar, he followed suit, navigating through the mass of fur, taking great care not to tred on any tails. He giggled lightly as he hopped from clearing to clearing, the waves of fur curling around his feet.

His enjoyment was poisoned by a sickening howl of pain. At first he thought he'd trodden on a tail or paw but the howl came again, echoing into the room from the open cellar door.

"Pod!" Came Arya's familiar cry. He bounded forward, striding over waves of grey and plunged himself through the darkened door, clearing the steps in one great leap. Once he straightened himself he found the source of the howl. The raider was slumped across the floor, eyes wide as the trident and blood seeping, thickly from his wound. 

"I'll still him, you lift him" Arya hissed, her face twisted in anger. He nodded and reached for the mans legs, he kicked lightly at his hands. "Kick me again, and I'll take your legs!" Arya hissed again, raising Oathkeeper to the raiders chin. The raider stayed his next kick. Pod reached out, grasping the mans sleeve and pulled lightly. "Pod, take him outside, put him by the wall, the tall one." She ordered, sheathing Oathkeeper.

Pod heaved the raider to his feet and dragged him out. He didn't struggle, not so much as a plea for freedom, he just stood, walking slowly from the cellar. Pod thought this odd, only moments ago he had been howling in pain, begging for mercy, yet now he limped, still as stone at his side, head bowed. He led the raider to the large wall outside the inn, it looked far older than the building itself, Probably built on ruins, all inns have their secrets. He thought perplexingly. His grip loosened as he thought, but the raider did not run, he couldn't run, his calf was slit with a Valyrian blade. He led the raider to the tallest part of the wall, it's stones were blackened and slick to the touch. Dragonfire? He wondered as the raider sat, back to the wall. He bound the mans hands with a thick rope hanging from a hook, imbedded in the scorched wall. And waited.

Arya emerged quickly, the anger still staining her face. She neared them quickly, drawing Oathkeeper enthusiastically. Pod spied the the raider gulp at the sight of the smoky steel.  
Nymeria at her heel. 

Arya Stark was of the north, she followed the old ways, she planted Oathkeeper into the ground before her, hilt pressed to her belly. "Name?" She asked in a low voice. "Rot" the raider answered bitterly, swatting his foot at hers. She lowered he head and muttered quietly. He had always wondered what she muttered to her self. As she readied her arms to swing, Maester Wylber appeared behind her, planting his hand on her shoulder. She spun quietly at his touch.

"My lady, I cannot let you do this" the old man sputtered, "you cannot just execute this man with no trial." He cried. 

"Maester, this creature raped the innkeepers corpse!" Arya growled, pushing away his hand, "you are a maester, sworn to fight illness. This thing is no different to the rot you cut from a wound, now stand aside." 

Arya turned back to the raider, clutching Oathkeeper to her chest. The Maester stepped forward again. "At least show him mercy, please my lady, show mercy!" The Maester pleaded desperately. Arya's face turned to coldest stone, eyes fixed forward as she turned. The Maester recoiled slightly at a her gaze, even he felt a shiver run up his spine at the chill of her glare. "Fine, I'll show him mercy!" She growled, her hate seeping into her speech. "But stop me again Maester, and I'll add you to my prayer as well." Her threat sent the old man back, stumbling slightly. 

Arya sheathed Oathkeeper and called Nymeria to her side. "Rot." She called. The raiders heads bobbled slightly, "I'll show you the mercy of choosing your own fate." His head twitched slightly. "I'll ask you once, Death?" Arya asked, stroking Nymeria's head. "Or life on the wall?" 

The raider bounded to his knees, "the wall!" He cried, "life on the wall milady, the wall, please."  
Pod stared long at Arya, how will we get him to the wall? He wondered, we have only one horse, and the wall is leagues away. His questions were answered quickly, "the wall it is," Arya muttered, "Pod, lift him!" 

He obeyed, he wrapped his arms around the mans chest and lifted him to his feet, Arya stepped forward, a long course rope clutched tightly in her fist and bound the raider, cinching one end of the rope tightly at his wrists and flinging the other over the high beam. Pod stepped back, stumbling. By the gods! He thought as he realised her intentions.

He winced as Arya tugged at the rope, winching the raider off the ground as he screeched in pain, flailing his legs. Pod was surprised at how little he cared as the man flailed in agony, his hands turning blue. The Maester however was far less indifferent, he stepped forward, only to be stopped by the low snarls of Nymeria, as she stood, teeth bared at her mistresses back. Arya bound the rope to the low beam and turned, eying the Maester with the same cold glare. 

"Pod, take the Maester to his chambers, now!" She ordered, pod stood, failing to drag his gaze from the flailing raider as he struggled for freedom. "Now!" She cried, dragging his eyes away. He snapped back quickly to reality and grasped the Maester firmly, dragging him into the inn, glad to be away from the gruesome sight. He dropped the small man into a rickety wooden chair and sat, his hand twitching uncontrollably. They had not twitched this violently since the day Tyrion had ordered him to betray him, to save himself. 

He remembered Tyrion, his wit and cutting humor. He hoped he still lived, though he doubted it. He had seen no man bigger than the mountain, even the hound seemed a child against his monstrous brother. 

Great screeches of pain sent his thoughts tumbling, images of Tyrion's shattered corpse filled his mind, of the mountain pushing his huge steel boot over Tyrion's broken face. He rocked lightly as his muscled tensed, more gruesome images filling his mind. 

The next shriek broke him, he burst to his feet, drawing Needle and fondled the hilt, pacing quickly. The Maester stared, horrified at the open door, staring out into the yard. He stood, flinching as howls of "kill me!" Rung through the inn, over and over. 

The Maester burst from the room as Arya entered. They stood staring into each other, as the cries for death stopped with the dull thrum of steel on flesh. They stood, staring until the Maester appeared, slicked with blood, with a small dagger in hand and a face of utter despair.

They both turned their gaze to the small man, he seemed smaller still. A stale silence descended on the room, only the faint trickle of blood to be heared, "Your friends will die." The Maester said finally, raising his own dagger to his throat. Arya dived, wrestling the Maester to the floor, prying away his blade. 

She stared up at him, her orders written in her gaze, he lunged forward, gripping the Maester roughly at the neck, yanking him up and dragging up him away, up the rotting staircase and threw him through the nearest door. Brienne's door. 

The old mans body slapped the floor loudly, his voluptuous robe splaying across the rough woollen rug at the foot of the bed. The Maester didn't struggle, he let himself tumble stiffly over the wooden boards. Pod let his stare turn to Brienne, she lay disrobed and writhing slightly with a thick sheen of sweat pasting her face. A pang of guilt shot through him as he stared, why didn't I help, he thought, I put a spear through the kingsguard, why not the hound?. His guilt seeped deeper, his eyes began to dry as his stare continued. 

The loud jangle of chains broke his guilt ridden pondering. The Maester climbed slowly to his knees, his brittle arms outstretched to steady him. Pod clenched his hand around the hem of his brigadine to stifle his impulse to help. Luckily, as his urge boiled, Arya burst through the door angrily, planting her foot onto the Maester's rear, thrusting his into the rug. 

"Up." She growled, sending prickles up his spine. Arya was distant at most times, her eyes grey as iron, and near as cold. Her disdain for others was obvious, but she cared for the hound, though she hid it. Pod suspected she cared for Brienne too, as two warriors respected each other. Arya had removed Brienne's armour and cleaned her wounds herself, ordering pod away. But her anger was truly terrifying. her rage was strange, she did not kick, scream and sweep a flail in anger. Her anger was cold, she could strike off a mans head with no change to her stare, could gut a man with neither scowl nor grimace, only a icy glare. Her wrath was vicious, with ferocity to rival the hounds blind rage, she had given Rot a fate worse than death, he wondered if the Maester would leave this room alive, he wondered if he wound be mopping steaks of blood from the rough rug. 

The Maester stood carefully, his chain ratting as he straightened his arthritic back. "Up" she growled again, followed by the same cool tingle. The Maester scowled indignantly to them, his brow furrowed. "I shan't heal them." He said coolly, shifting his gaze to Brienne. "She will die, I shan't help murderers!" Arya's wrist flicked and within an instant Oathkeeper was at the maesters throat, the cold steel brushing his grey whiskers. Pod drew needle and followed, raising the slim blade to the old mans crooked nose. "Kill me and be damned!" He cried, "your friends will die for your sins!" 

A sudden shriek of fear flowed though him and pods boldness vanished. Along with his strength. His sword arm fell, his other twitching again. The Maester scowled triumphantly up at him, his once warm eyes now cold and vindictive. As the grin of victory slipped onto his wrinkled face it was accompanied by the gilded steel of Oathkeepers pommel. Arya beat the man once, knocking him back to his knees. 

The Maester clutched his face and shrieked in pain as trickles of blood seeped through his fingers. Arya guffawed quickly and raised her blade, letting it hover a few inches for his face.  
"You will heal them." She announced coldly, "or you will join your new friend on the wall. 

The Maester spat quiet, wet curses, his face stained crimson. Arya stepped. Forward looming over him, pod felt the tingle creep up his spine again. She uttered only two words "Valar Morghulis". The Maester's face shrunk from indignant rage to hollow fear, his eyes widened in fear and his mouth twitched. Arya twitched her head and the Maester nodded hurriedly, then stood and scuttled from the room, his face white as fresh fallen snow as he passed pod. 

Arya turned, "Make sure he stays to his chambers," she muttered coolly, "Bind him if you must." Pods instincts took him, he nodded, bowed slightly and fled the room, nearly tripping on his own feet. 

Outside the air was cool, the breeze flowed through the ruined door, filling the inn with icy air that stung slightly as you breathed it in. Pods legs shook as he stood staring through the bannister into the room below, the corpses of raiders stacked near the splintered hole of a door. His shoulder ached slightly at the thought. 

He straightens himself quickly and padded along to the fleeing Maester. The old mans eyes were still wide with fear, his chain ratting as he shook. Why?, he wondered, why have those words shook him, this man was howling curses at us, but two words sent him cowering like a stray pup?. The words rung in his mind as he walked, his steps parallel to the Maester's own.  
Valar Morghulis, he thought with faint recognition. These words weren't of the common tongue, why do they terrify this bold old man. Why?.

The Maester scampered through his chamber door, opening it only slightly. A slow aching fatigue washed over him and Pod glanced about for some aid. A small wooden stool stood perched against a beam. Pod snatched it up, shoving it against the Maester's chamber wall and collapsing onto it, his legs howling their own screams of pain. He sat for a while, his mind puzzling at those words, Valar Morghulis. He wondered as his eyes drooped, why?, why?, wh-. The warm embrace of rest swept through him, carrying him away to his land of wonder. 

)---(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I came down with a terrible bout of Diablo addiction, I'm still hooked but found enough time to finish this chapter. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I haven't written for Pod in a while. I should emphasise, if you haven't yet guessed, I like overlapping chapters, letting certain elements be seen by seperate perspectives. 
> 
> I'm slightly stumped on which character to write for next, I want to revisit Arya, to get some insight into her hatred. Though I also yearn to do a Brienne chapter, or maybe even Sandor. I'll leave it to a readers vote. I'll give all you readers a week to decide the next POV. 
> 
> Also a slight warning, with Destiny opening on the 9th I will likely be enthralled for at least a fortnight, so don't expect much progress during that timeframe. 
> 
> Also sorry for the length of this end note. 
> 
>  
> 
> I thank all of you for viewing my folly, please do leave comments, praise, criticism and ideas are all welcome.
> 
> Till next we meet. 
> 
> Valar Dohaeris


	6. Honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The pain of recovery was a dull thing, the ache of healing wounds dragged for weeks, it's tendrils encompassing your whole body, the dull ache consuming your thoughts. The pain of battle was quick, sharp and often deadly, you weren't liable to complain of a quarrel in the eye."
> 
> To all those wondering, about three weeks have passed since the last chapter. Just to resolve any potential confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm true to my word, I said I'd bring a Brienne chapter, so I have.  
> This chapter was very. Fun to write, it was finished far quicker than the last few, mainly because I'm much more comfortable writing for Brienne. That's not to say I do not enjoy writing for Pod or Arya, I enjoy those very much, pods feeble nature is amusing and Arya's cold ferocity is riveting.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, but I must admit I have only now noticed that my italic thought idea didn't quite work when uploaded, I shall search for some alternative but it will remain until then, sorry for any confusion.
> 
> Also I am rather torn on the future for this, I do wish to continue Brienne's POV, through her recovery and catch up but I also yearn to get some true bitterness from the hound, I've decided to stick with Brienne unless you guys would prefer another. 
> 
> Anyway, enough with my incessant rambling, enjoy the chapter.
> 
> I thank all of you for viewing my folly, please do leave comments, praise, criticism and ideas are all welcome.
> 
> Till next we meet. 
> 
> Valar Dohaeris

Chapter VI: Honour

 

Death, death is a curious thing. It goes hand in hand with honour, an honourable man doesn't kill, at least not on a whim. The codes of honour preach for the sanctity of life, of how death is a foul thing, though even the most honourable man kills, all men kill. Every man, woman and child will see the cold face of death, will watch the flicker of life leave another's eyes. 

Brienne knew the treacherous nature of honour, how it preached to you the importance of life but bound you to take it. Oaths were the puppets of honour, it's minions to twist the honourable to acts of malice. You would swear your oath, place your life in another's hands hoping they would care for honour as you do, but as always your oath would bind you, you would carry out even the most heinous of acts for your oath. For your honour. Why?.

 

\-----

 

The pain of recovery was a dull thing, the ache of healing wounds dragged for weeks, it's tendrils encompassing your whole body, the dull ache consuming your thoughts. The pain of battle was quick, sharp and often deadly, you weren't liable to complain of a quarrel in the eye.

Time passed slowly with pain, days turn to weeks, months to years. You writhe for an age, only to learn no more than a day has passed. This pain encompassed Brienne, her senses clouded by the slow pulsing agony from her chest, even her breath stung. 

The fever was a whole other creature, it ebbed away at the pain but brought sickness and nightmares. A fever dream was a dark one, the horrors of your past and present echoed around you as you writhe for freedom, for relief.

With her vision clouded by the feverish fog she could hardly see the world around her. The faint memories of a Maester, of sickness and of Arya, poor Arya. Brienne had suffered fevers before, she had taken wounds and paid for them. Her worst happening when she was young, barely ten, an accident with a longsword left her with a fortnight long fever and a scar that bore no end to her guilt. The scar run down her side, from the small of her back to her thigh. The puckered flesh was a faded pink and tight. She had seen her scars as marks of honour, as truth of her strength. But this scar she shunned to show, she was not fond of removing her armour publicly, let alone her smallclothes. The fever wrapped itself around her again, it's fog thickening as her limbs stiffened and loosed, her breathe ragged. 

 

\-----

 

The stale stench of death and charred wood filled her lungs as the recognition set in, she knew this place, the dark silhouettes of twisted willow and the hearty crackle of flame. She stared around, her gaze barely piercing the shell of darkness around her. In the distance she saw the faint golden glow of flame. She started for it, pausing quickly as something stiff and cold slapped her side, she stared up into the darkness. A rough silhouette hung before her, stiff and cold. She peered in further and careened back as realisation flooded her mind. She had wondered where she stood, what stood before her. The cold skin and faint whine of rope answered her. Pod!

She ran, ran to the light, to the sight she knew awaited her. She whistled through the fragile wood, the loud rustle of dead leaves beneath her feet. Her memory took ahold and she followed her previous path through the dense web of death. Through the deep, blood filled puddles, over the mounds of charred branches and stiff flesh and through thick bushels of dry prickly grass. She burst through the familiar bush, her feet planting themselves deep into the soft mud. The familiar sight stood before her, Jaime hung before her, his eyes bulging from his head, his face a deep shade of purple. Her limbs fell heavy at her side, she couldn't stop this, couldn't change his fate, she had tried and tried again, pulled with all her might to no avail. She stared deep into Jaimie's bloodshot eyes as his flails of freedom slowed and his feet began to twitch. Jaime stared back, his eyes almost indignant at her inaction. With an accusing look he flailed again, jumping high for some slack, some hope. With a sickening crack Jaime hung still, swaying slightly in the breeze. 

Guilt rang through her as she stared, emotionless into Jaimie's still eyes, she knew how this terror worked, how she would scream in despair. But despair had fled her, only anger remained. Her gaze shifted to the creature at Jaimie's feet. The dark creature fondled his twitching feet, flecks of skin trailing behind its shifting hands. 

The creature turned to her, it's deep hood hid it's face. Her muscles twitched as it neared her.  
It moved smoothly, gliding over the charred earth. Flicking its boney hand to her chin, it clutched her cheeks tightly with what skin remained. It slid its voluptuous hood back, revealing a gaunt, rotten face. A mass of arrow straight, snow white, fragile hair and a gaping wound across its pasty, pale throat. She stared deeply into its lifeless eyes, they sat milky white in deep sockets. 

It twisted its hand around its wound, letting the fingers slip loosely into her gaping throat. It craned in carefully and let out a faint whistle, followed by a coarse whisper. "Traitor!" It hissed.  
Brienne felt her rage boil, it's waves seeping from every pore of her being. "Traitor!" It hissed again, it's decrepit hand grasping her throat. Her rage and restraint shattered simultaneously, "Never!" She growled and bludgeoned her large fist around the creatures ragged throat, lifting it from its feet, and to her eye. "Never!" She howled and threw it back, it crashed back into the filth, flecks of thick mud and dried blood speckled its face. 

"Oath breaker!" It hissed finally, clutching it's torn throat desperately as Brienne loomed over it. "Never!" She shrieked loudly as she descended on the creatures frail form, flailing her armoured boot into the creatures gaunt face, sending it careening into the dirt again. She loomed over it again and pummelled her plated boot into the creatures dazed head, sending splinters of bone into the air. Never!, she thought as she pounded her foot into the fleshy crimson pulp of what remained of the creatures head, chunks of brain and bone streaking up her calf, Never!, Never!, Never!, she pleaded to her self as the wet splat of brain on boot echoed through her mind. 

 

\----- 

 

She burst from her dream drenched in a thick skin of sweat. "Never!" She screamed as she burst up, her breathe ragged and fevered. Soft, stern hands wormed around her, stroking her shoulder softly, comforting her. "Still" came a steady voice. Brienne turned, finding only a set of pale grey eyes staring back, staring into her. Arya.

"My lady." She stumbled, pressing her hands forward. Arya's eyes darted down, Brienne followed, she stared down at her sweat streaked hands, one was planted at Arya's boney waist, the other was cupped around one small, soft breast. Her eyes met Arya's again and she pulled away, Arya's gaze peering deep into her. "My lady, I, I didn't mean to, I-" she stuttered, struggling to speak. "Shhhh" Arya interrupted as she eased Brienne down again, her hand cupping her cheek. 

"My lady, I-" she stuttered desperately, her embarrassment raging through her. Why did I touch her, touch her there?, She thought as Arya brushed the hair from her brow. "I, I, my-" she muttered again as her heart calmed, "Shhhh" Arya cooed again, stroking her cheek softly with her forefinger. "Sleep" she soothed. 

Brienne let her tenseness unravel, let her muscles rest again. Her eyes drooped as Arya soothed her down into the inviting darkness. As she slipped deep into sleep she felt the faint wet pop of a kiss on her forehead, followed by a thick cloud of darkness. 

 

\-----

 

Luckily the fever had broken when she awoken, her dreams were far sweeter, visions of tarth, of the crystal blue waters lapping at the dull grey rocks along the shore. The emerald green fields and halls of her father. She slipped blissfully from her slumber, staring up into the dingy rafters of her airy room. She rolled to her side, her eyes rolling heavily as she shifted. Once she rolled her eyes met another's, huge golden eyes like discs of molten gold stared back and the dull stench of salt beef filled her lungs as it's breath warmed her nose, sending prickles through her face. 

The golden moons stared awhile, surrounded by a sea of soft grey. The eyes blinked heavily and thrust forward, rolling her onto her back. Suddenly she found herself smothered in a quilt of warm grey fur, the bristles tingling her nose. The fur shifted uncontrollably on her chest, freeing her eyes once more. Her vision focused and it was then she saw the source if the fur, a huge grey wolf sat astride her, it's fur thick and grey, it's eyes glittering moons of gold and it's tongue lolled out to the side happily. She raised an aching hand to the wolfs neck, petting it softly. She moved her hand behind its ear and scratched softly, her fathers dogs had always liked that. It twisted its head around her hand, it's eyes closed as it groaned softly. It worked.

The wolf leaned in when she stopped, lapping its great tongue over her cheek, she pet it again as she pushed her head away, to no effect. The wolf crawled back once it finished greeting her and laid itself over her thighs, it's warmth tingled up her belly. Brienne groaned loudly as she wrenched herself up, using her weak arms to steady herself as she sat up. The wolf lay on her lap and let out a sound she swore was a laugh. Can wolves laugh? She wondered as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. 

"Hope Nymeria didn't scare you too much." Came a high voice, it's tone tainted with stifled laughter. Brienne snapped her head to attention, Arya stood leaning against the open door and clutching an apple. "My lady" she muttered sleepily before remembering her courtesies. She lay in the rough bed in nothing but her sweat soaked smallclothes. And a wolffish quilt  
"My lady, I-" she blurted again as she wrenched the thin blanket from under the wolf and pressed it to her, it's frayed edges tickling her neck. 

Brienne spied a strange look in Arya's eyes as she stared, a look she had never seen before. Likely puzzled, she thought quickly, given my actions earlier she probably wonders wonders why the modesty now. Her answer came in the form of a high laugh, giggly and childish. Arya hunched slightly as her stomach convulsed with laughter. "My lady?" She asked. Arya waved her hand quickly as she leaned over, laughing like a warhappy drunk, her whole body convulsing before her as she shrieked with laughter. Brienne stared back to the wolf at her lap, it stared back, as mystified as her. Brienne clenched the thin sheet tighter as Arya approached. Arya leant herself against the small table aside the crooked bed and pointed a single finger, Brienne followed the the finger to her chest, she stared a moment in realisation. The blanket she was clenching so tightly was torn at her chest, exposing her pale stomach and both meagre breasts. She slapped both hands to her chest quickly, cupping her hands around them and pressing what material remained together into a rough ball. the resulting slap sent whips of pain through her skin, and embarrassment rang through her. 

A stale silence hung over the room, Arya stared, Nymeria lay motionless at her lap and Brienne sat, stewing in her own embarrassment. "Nymeria" Arya called finally, breaking the silence as the tension reached its peak and threw her apple to the wolf, who caught it effortlessly. Brienne tried for speech but her mouth hung open, wordless. Arya climbed slowly onto the bed, setting herself cross legged at Nymeria's side. "My la-" she started but Arya cut her off "I am no lady." She said sternly. Brienne paused, she had said the same to the girls mother all to long ago, before Renly's death, before Jaime, before her oath. 

"Arya," she stumbled meekly, "my-" 

"Armour?" Arya finished, she is very quick 

"Yes!" she blurted, "and my sword" 

Arya gave her a meek smile and stood, unbuckling her belt. Brienne stared a moment before she recognised it, the deep crimson leather and gilded steel plates, the small lions head crests, carved from moonstone and set into the gold. As the final buckle slid open Arya slung the scabbard forward, laying it softy at her side. 

Brienne stared longingly at the glittering steel at her side, she slid her quaking hand up the smooth scabbard and fondled the polished gold adorning the hilt. She almost felt fit for battle as she wrung her fingers around the supple red leather of the grip. She slid the blade free slowly, basking in the faint shine of the smoky steel. The flawless edge glittered lightly as she turned it, examining its masterful blade passively. Brienne slid her gaze from tip to hilt, only then did she notice the dents in the gilding at the pommel, several thick rubies missing. "My doing" she whispered, scolding herself for her brashness. Why?, why in her first true battle with the wondrous blade did she find the cause to desecrate such a perfect sword, a sword forged from Ice, the sword of the Starks, the north. She had set out to protect the stark children but had nearly brought about her own demise. The embarrassment at her defeat hung heavy over her, her shoulders feeling weak from their weight. Though she sat naked with but a threadbare blanket to clothe her. 

Brienne glanced to her armour, neatly stacked a reach from the bed, her tunic, britches and boots folded roughly alongside. She slipped her hand from the dingy fabric to her shoulder, clutching the torn rag closer, and shot a glare to Arya, immediately catching her empty eyes.  
Arya's face turned to confusion for a moment as she stared, Brienne could almost see her considering her gaze. 

Arya's eyes opened widely in realization, "aye, I'll be with pod" she blurted nervously, her left hand worming through the gaps in her tunic. She looked as though a babe, tugging at her mothers skirts, her face awash with embarrassment and bewilderedness. Arya slid from the room quietly, sealing the door in her wake, "Nymeria!" She called softly before the door slapped its frame. The wolf still lay lazily at her lap, ignoring her mistresses calls, as the door sealed she raised her head and let out weak groan, almost a huff of indignation. 

Brienne gave the wolf a light push, to no avail, Nymeria lounged along her legs comfortably, her head rested on her paws. Another push and the wolf began to stir. "Bloody great dog" Brienne whispered under her breath as she shoved the wolf from her lap. Nymeria looked up to her, almost confused and rolled from her lap, now lounging along her side and taking most of the bed, Brienne's feet now dangling from the bedside. 

As brienne readied herself to stand, a wave of embarrassment hit her, Nymeria was watching. She pulled the sheets closer. Just stand! She thought to herself, it's only a wolf, it cares nothing for my form. Taking a deep breathe Brienne slid herself to the beds edge, letting the sheet slip her grasp. She stretched her long legs thoroughly, letting her toes curl in the cool breeze. As she readied herself to stand her stomach gave a loud groan, echoing through the airy room and sending Nymeria's head attention, ears raised. Her stomach felt so empty, a pit in her belly. How long have I slept? she wondered, pressing a hand to the soft skin of her belly, it was cold to the touch. She groaned loudly as she stood, her legs weak and trembling from the sudden weight, she leaned against the rough wooden wall as her head began to swim.

Regaining her balance Brienne slid her hands from her waist to her cheeks, passing softly over her small breast, her teats stood rigid in her path, the cold to blame. Letting her arms swing back to her side she padded weakly to her neatly piled armour, at first snatching up a greave but then throwing it down for her britches. She skinned up the soft leather, the woollen lining tickled her skin as it rose. Cinching them in place with a thick belt she bent low for her tunic, her back howled with pain. The tunic was a gift from Jaime, among other like Oathkeeper and her precious armour. It was made of the finest leather, dyed a deep blue and lined with soft linen, the sleeves were of soft padded wool. A large silver star was stitched with silver thread at the nape, and her sigil at the breast, woven by hand by the finest seamstresses in kings landing. 

She sighed softly as she lowered the tunic over her, the leather felt warm and soft, it soothed her aching shoulders. She stood a moment, lacing the tunic, what would Jaime make of this? She thought, fought a single battle and nearly died, and now in the care of an orphan girl and a simple boy. The Hound's twisted face flashed her glazed eyes, his bloodied face inches from hers as they tumbled from the clifftop. His hard eyes seemed almost contended as they fell.  
Did he wish to fall? She asked herself.

Brienne discarded the thought, she mustn't linger on the inner working of a man like Sandor Clegane, a monster in his own right. She pulled on her stiff boots quickly, fastening them tightly. She shifted her gaze to Nymeria, who now lay over her whole bed, her long legs stretching corner to corner and thick fur splayed. A small smile crept over her lips, she had heard tales of Nymeria, of how the stark children had taken Direwolf pups to raise, though she had never truly believed it. Yet here she lay, a great Direwolf, the symbol of the north, sleeping in a straw bed with the maid of tarth. "One for the songs." She giggled. 

She leaned over the sleeping wolf and yanked Oathkeeper from under her, Nymeria growled as she stirred. She pet Nymeria a final time and limped to the thick door, her legs were far from sore, they were downright broken, her legs seems like jelly with each step. She slipped from the room quickly, hobbling a few steps to the bannister across the hall. She was not fond of the thought of invalidity, she was a soldier, a knight. Though no sword had met her shoulder, save those of her enemies. She straightened herself and let her weight lean on Oathkeeper, the sword stood stoic as her weight eased onto it. 

Gathering her strength, Brienne started forward, she must find Arya, she must get her from the Hound. The stairs were a troublesome task, each step shooting beads of pain up her thighs. Eventually reaching the foot of the staircase, she leaned herself on the balustrade, letting her weight press on the old wood. 

The sight that awaited her took Brienne aback, a pack of wolves peppered the common room, Arya at its center, wolf pups lay snuggled at her lap and a large black wolf stood sentry beside her. Arya raised her head from the small bundles of fur and smiled. 

"My lady!" Came a sheepish voice. Brienne turned to it, her eyes widened as she beheld its source. "Pod?" She asked quickly, staring into the boys face. "Aye" the boy returned. Brienne stared deeply into the boys face, it had changed. Along his face lay a bright pink scar, from hairline to ear, left to right, splitting his brow. 

"What happened?" She asked, her gaze still fixed on the puckered flesh.

Pod fumbled at the hem of his brigandine, as Arya had. "After you fell, we, we gathered you up and, and-" the poor boy struggled, his word catching in his throat. "Brought you here, some men tried to hurt lady Arya, so, so we, we-" 

"Killed them, all of them" Arya finished, her voice cold. 

Pod stepped closer "Some raiders attacked lady Arya, one tried to have his way, so, so I-" 

"Split him in half with the Hound's greatsword." Arya finished again as she stood. "But what of pods wound?" Brienne asked her, her gaze flicking between them. "The innkeeper took a swing at pod with a dagger, he dealt with her." Arya answered. 

Brienne's mind swam again, Pod fought for Arya, for me? She thought, he killed for me?  
Shifting her gaze again, pod hung his head, he seemed ashamed. Sensing the tension, she changed the subject, "and the wolves?" She asked, hoping the tension would subside.  
"Nymeria and her pack, they found us here after the fight." Arya's eyes seemed to glow again as she spoke, petting the black wolf at her side. Brienne stared down at the wolf, his fur was black as night and eyes icy grey. Arya must of caught her gaze, "Yoren" she choked in, "his name is Yoren." 

Yoren, she knew the name, he had been a brother of the watch, he had come to Tarth many times, seeking recruits. Why him, why name him after a wondering crow? She wondered.  
There was some tension in Arya's voice as she spoke the name, Brienne chose to stay her questions. 

"And the Hound?" She asked, shifting the subject again. 

"In the tower room, my lady." Pod answered, still fiddling with his brigandine. She had not asked his location, "his health?" 

"Well" came another voice, crisp as winter breeze.

Brienne turned on her heel, her fingers brushing Oathkeeper's hilt. Behind her stood a Maester, his long robes stained and torn, his chain hung low. "He is well, though he shan't walk well for a time, his bones will need time to heal." The Maester finished, his voice crisp, he shot a icy stare to Arya, seeming to almost exude a mixture of fear and hatred in his glare. 

"Maester?" She asked dully 

"Wylber" he answered quickly, his face frank and stern, though it did not suit him. "And you shall require this" he said, pressing a small glass bottle into her palm. 

With that he turned and left, shuffling up the staircase. Brienne brought the bottle to her eyes, a thin milky substance filled the small bottle. Milk of the poppy. She realised in disgust as she sniffed the concoction. She shan't take that foul substance, no matter the pain. 

"You require rest, my lady." Pod choked. 

"I agree" Arya agreed, stepping forward. "You must have your strength." 

Sensing the hopelessness of argument and with her bones howling their approval, Brienne reluctantly bowed and left, pod at her side. They ascended the unreasonably creaky staircase to her room. The frigid air bellowed from the room as the door parted its frame, sending a chill down her spine. 

Nymeria sat on her haunches before the bed. Her tongue lolled happily, she slept well. Brienne thought happily. Pod bowed low and slid away, his shame written in his face. She should talk with him, learn what truly happened after her fall. Stepping weakly past Nymeria she lowered herself slowly to the bed, her knees near buckling from pain. Resting herself softly on the straw she began unlacing her tunic. Only to lace it back immediately as the winter air flew in through the open window. As gooseskin pricked her arms she hobbled to the window, slamming it shut, the sudden blast of icy air cascading up her sleeves. 

After the fit of chills subsided, Brienne lowered herself to the bed. Her mind filling with memories of winter days on Tarth, though snow was rare the northern chills set into the peaceful isle quickly, the sea breeze bringing their icy breathe on the wind. Brienne been alone most if her life, Galladon had died young leaving her as the sole heir, though lord Selwyn had tried to raise her as a lady, her constant rejection of all things dainty had loosened his hold, her constant fumbling with the sword driving him to raise her more a son than daughter. At her wish to fight with blade over needle he had ordered the master at arms, Ser Goodwin to his halls, to train her properly, her previous training with a blade being self induced, and thoroughly hopeless. 

She had many scars from her time with a blade, mostly knicks and scratches that hardly left a mark, but the scar at her side had always troubled her, she had gained it in an accident with a longsword, she was merely ten, Galladon slightly older. They had found a pair of old longswords in the vaults below the castle, their blades warped and rusted. But still sharp. 

They had tried to spar with them, the swords were long and bent, their hilts so heavy they needed both hands to lift. Their blades clashed in the evening sun, on a small rocky beach, hidden from view. At the time, her father was determined to raise her to be a proper lady, to enjoy poatry and needlework, to swoon for knights and bear children, grandchildren for him to dote on. All to no avail. 

They fumbled in the sand, both hopelessly wishing they were great knights, with fine armour and a blade of Valyrian steel. At least some wishes come true, she thought, glancing to Oathkeepers hilt. 

Their sparing continued for a fortnight, each day after dinner they would sneak to the small beach, retrieve the blades from a small cave they used to hide them, and begin swinging the jagged steel listlessly at each other, occasionally clashing with a loud ring. But then as they sparred hopelessly on the rocky sand a loose stone toppled Galladon, he fell forward, his blade before him. He had crashed into her shoulder, sliding past her into the coarse sand. Though his blade was not so soft. As he fell, the sharp blade ran up her side, carving open her flesh, from thigh to the small of her back. They had both screamed desperately, Brienne from the pain and Galladon from guilt. 

They threw the swords into the cave and limped, bloody and screaming to the hold, Goodwin scooped them up immediately, carrying them, on horseback to the Maester, he was a kind old man, though Brienne's memory was clouded with time, he had died soon after, replaced with Maester Jazvir, a myrish Maester, with a great love of wine. 

As the Maester cleaned and sealed her wound, a guard poured a thin substance into her mouth. Milk of the poppy, though the pain left, the dreams it brought were far too horrible to remember. From that day she had sworn off the substance, never would she see those visions again. Father had howled in anger when Galladon revealed the events of the night, even caning Him for his foolishness. He had never harmed Brienne, and rarely her brother, he swore it off as dishonourable to strike a child, only caning her once, when she accidentally killed his favourite horse. With a catapult. 

The scar still shone a faded pink so long after, the skin still puckered and sensitive. She always felt a pang of guilt when she felt it, Galladon had died not long after, drowned at sea. The guilt always hung over her, even though she was far away at the time, in the Stormlands with her father, visiting a series of suitors, each more repulsive than the last. It was there she met "Red" Ronnet Connigton. And there she broke his jaw. 

Her thoughts turned back to the swords, the cave they his them in, are they still there? She wondered, do they remain in that damp cave, rusted and stained with my blood? 

Brienne tore herself from her guilt and lay softly on the bed, rolling to her side and pulling the torn blanket close. The chill of night crept through her as darkness fell over her again. 

\-----

The haziness of sleep faded as she stirred, Brienne craned her head to see Arya stood at the door, pillow and blanket under her arm. She smiled softly and crept forward without a sound.


	7. Bittersweet Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I hope this isn't too soppy)
> 
> "Brienne lay on her back, her mussed hair splayed over the pillow and her eyes closed in silent bliss, Arya perched over her, a hand cupped around a single, freckled cheek. "For you." She growled with a naturally wolffish grin, lowering her head again, taking Brienne's lips in hers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well, it has been awhile. All apoligies for the wait, this chapter was perticularily problematic, I'm still not completely satisfied with it, but I think it is good enough to be posted, when it comes to this chapter specifically, I do urge you all to comment on what you think, I'm not too sure about it, I thought it was too fluffy, too focused on the inn, the yard, even the past. This is far from a conversationalistic chapter, given the subject, and the way I envisioned it, dialogue was kept very low. 
> 
> This chapter was easily my hardest to write, as a person who is incapable of feeling empathy or experiencing emotion, I am very much relying on second hand experience in regards to the more passionate scenes. 
> 
> It is because of this ineptitude that I urge you to comment your thoughts, from an average emotional background, what you thought of said scenes. If the scenes are seen as too hollow I will gladly attempt to rewrite them. 
> 
> As always I thank you all for finding time to view my little project, and as a side note, I have become perticularily enamoured by the works of Nurdles over the last fortnight, and after reading Taking the Silver, I have not been able to shake the uncontrollably cute idea of "Snow Septas". 
> 
> So I thank you Nurdles, not only for cultivating this wonderful idea, but also for your magnificent work. 
> 
> I thank all of you for viewing my folly, please do leave comments, praise, criticism and ideas are all welcome.
> 
> Till next we meet. 
> 
> Valar Dohaeris

Chapter VII: Bittersweet Surprise.

 

Time passed quickly at the inn, The Speckled Hen was a large inn, with many rooms. This meant Arya could stay far away from the others, but still watch they're actions, though she needn't bother. Pod was unendingly loyal, he would fall on his sword for Brienne. And split a man in half for me.

The pathetic Maester, Wylber, was far too terrified of her to run, the words Jaqen H'ghar had told her had sent him cowering, scuttling away to his chambers. The old man's fear did not temper his hate of her, on the sparse occasion they met he would scowl coldly at her, his face burning with hate, though his eyes seeped with fear. She would give him her favourite scowl, stare deep into his round eyes, the wrinkled man could hold no stare longer than a moment, then look away and scuttle back to his lair.

Arya had made a habit of sleeping among her pack, snuggled warmly among the sea of fur.   
The pups had taken a liking to her, while she slept beside Nymeria and Yoren, each at her side, the pups would curl together at her lap, warming her belly. 

Nymeria was half her height again when they lay on the hard wooden floor, her long body stretching from shoulder to shin at her side, her huge head twice her own. Yoren was smaller, just over half Nymeria's length, though large since he was no Direwolf. Yoren would sleep at her side, his thick black fur splaying over her chest as his head rested at her shoulder. 

The days had been quiet since Rot's death. Arya would spend most days watching Brienne or visit the horses in the stables. Pod had found four horses bound beside the inn, the raiders mounts, they were taken to the stables, Stranger was far from fond of their company, but Pod would sooth him when he raged. 

Pod had seemed sullen as of late, since she struck a name from her list. He spent almost all days shut in the stables, tending Stranger and the others, his face had seemed gaunt and shadowed, though there was plenty of food, he ate as she did. She would talk with him soon.

Arya had only slept in her chambers twice since they arrived, she couldn't stand being far from her pack. The airy room was frigid, and the bed stiffer than the ditches she had called home when fleeing Harrenhal. The worst part of sleeping in the room was the dreams it imparted, dark and angry, dreams of Winterfell, broken and burnt, the shrieking of children and a pair of pale eyes. Her dreams were softer when she slept amongst her pack, dreams of home, of her family and of Winterfell. 

While the inn slept, Arya lay warm and secure, with a bundle of pups huddled on her chest.  
She was not one for fluff and beauty, but the pups were far too cute to deny. Sansa had been the most ladylike of them, though she far from perfect, she would not resist an opportunity to throw her in the stables muck or the heaping piles of mud at the lower end of the bailey, no matter how dirty she got Arya would always be the one punished.

Arya snapped herself from the memory to stand, softly settling the pups to Nymeria's breast, one bundle of fur at a time. As she stood her back groaned with pain, the ground was hard and her bones stiff, even the furriest of wolves couldn't soften the old oak. Her pack sleeping soundly around her, Arya crept from the crowded room. Perched on the ball of her feet, she padded softly to the rickety door. Pod had tried to fix the splintered door a week ago. The door was split in three, the bottom third was mostly intact, though it was far from sturdy, the numerous holes and dents whistled in the winter breeze. The other parts were hardly held together with rotten strips of firewood, bound with sparse rope and twine. 

Arya slide the door open slowly, the wood creaked loudly, it's hinges heaving. The cold air met her skin immediately, gooseskin prickling her skin, she trotted slowly out into the dark yard.  
The yard was drowned in shadow, only faint moonlight peeked from the thick clouds, lighting up the mismatched walls. And what remained of Rot.

"Bastard" she whisper softly, staring bitterly at the gnawed corpse. The wolves had chewed away his stumps, and torn out most of his innards. Arya had let the Maester bury the other raiders a fortnight back, he had near begged her, this was before his fear turned to hate.   
The raiders were buried behind the inn, some in dirt and some in stone, but she would not allow the Maester to bury Rot, he would feed the crows, or anything that fancied a bite. She stood a while before the frozen corpse, the nights had grown colder, and the chill was creeping through her shirt. Arya turned quickly and strode to the stables, she had put off talking to pod long enough. 

The stables were dark, the lamps snuffed but the heat from the horses filled the room with a thick blanket of steam. The boy slept stiffly on a pallet of straw near Stranger's stall. Arya poked him softly with her toe, he stirred, grumbling weak protest and rolling on his side. She poked him again, harder this time, the boy burst up as her boot met his ribs, his eyes wide and hand clenched around his curved dirk. I really should get Needle back, she thought. 

"My lady, what's happened?, raiders?, fire?" Pod asked, his face pale as milk. 

"Just me," Arya answered, annoyed, "and how many times must I tell you, I'm no lady. She hated being called "my lady", hated the courtesies of court, she preferred playing with her brothers in the yard over needlework with septa mordane. The most fun to be had with a septa was making Snow Septas in the biting cold of the snow drifts in the the godswood. 

"Apologises" pod apoligized, "but why have you come my-, why now?"

"I've come for Needle," she answered quickly, "I'll be needing it." Pod glanced around quickly at that. With a faint groan pod lurched forward and plunged his hand into a heaped pile of saddlebags. Withdrawing Needle slowly, the blade glittering in the pale moonlight. Arya lent in slowly, lifting Needle from pods grasp, his fingers seemed almost reluctant to loosen. Slipping her hand to the supple leather, Arya felt almost complete with her old friend in hand. 

Pod stood quickly to her side, his hands bunched together. "She's a fine sword" he whispered timidly. "Aye, and loyal too." Pod sat again, settling himself onto his pallet again. "Get some rest pod." She muttered softly as she slid from the humid stall. The cool night was welcomed after the disgustingly warm stall. Letting herself lean on the thick stable door, Arya let in a few deep breathes, the frigid air cooling her as it flowed through her. Her skin prickled through her thin shirt, she had left her tunic with her pack. While sleeping among her pack, her tunic was too thick for the heat, Nymeria's fur was warm to the touch and thick, like the furs she slept with in Winterfell. With a chill creeping up her spine, she scolded herself and started for the inn. 

A soft veil of warmth smothered her as she stepped into the common room. Most of the pack had left to hunt in the night, Nymeria at its head. Only the pups remained, huddled together on a rough spun rug beside the door. Realising her fate, Arya slid away, climbing the staircase slowly. Only a few dozen ear piercing creaks later, she dragged herself frustratingly down the shadowed hall. The bannister overlooking the common room was worn down by generations of use, the ancient oak was silk smooth and warped. The once straight beam now ebbed and flowed along its length. 

Arya let her fingers stroke the smooth beam, her mind wandering. Even after a beating from the Hound, Brienne stood firm. She had seen them fight on the clifftop, two giants pummelling each other into the dirt, she had seen the Hound fight, they had found Polliver, Raff and his men in an inn, Arya had put Needle through Polliver's throat, felt that warm feeling in her belly, while he drowned on his own rotten blood, the pitiful look in his eyes, the flame of life fading.   
Pathetic.

While she stood over Polliver's twitching corpse, she caught sight of the Hound, impaling a man with a broken table leg, his greatsword lodged in a thick beam beside the counter, bright spatters of thick blood streaking the blade. Say what you will of the Hound, he really could find strange ways to kill a man. She thought fondly, as the memories faded back into the darkness before her. With the cruel thoughts flooding her, Arya pulled her mind away, falling through her door, and collapsing into her stiff, neglected straw bed. With a strange heat building in her belly, she plunged deeply back into thought, focusing on Brienne, her straw blond hair, lean frame and brilliant blue eyes. She remembered her panicked shouts, her writhing, the thick sheen of sweat streaking her brow. And her large, warm hand on her breast. 

Arya's back gave a wild yearn at the thought, a warm tingle worming down her back. Arya shut her eyes tightly, the memories more vivid. Letting herself slip back into the memories, Brienne's lean frame laid before her, her two pert breasts poking comically through her torn sheet. She remembered the strange feeling she felt looking on Brienne while she slept. A pulsing began between her legs, urging her hand down, she resisted, clenching her hands tightly on the cool sheets. With the heat building between her thighs, Arya plunged herself back into memory, the sternness of Brienne's palm at her chest, the warmth of her breathe on her face, inches apart.

With the yearning at her core scorching her, Arya relented, she let her hand slip slowly down her belly, under her belt and into her britches. Her hand lurched back as it met the sudden wetness. Taking in a deep breathe, Arya let her fingers slip into the moistness, the short, fine hair between her legs tickling her hand as it slid past. Her strained giggle was interrupted by a deep gasp, her slick fingers finding a sensitive spot towards the top, every touch sending spears of pleasure through her. Arya moaned deeply, beginning slow, soft circles around the sensitive nub. 

Her mind flooded with images of Brienne, memories of her touch, her smell, her great, shining eyes staring deeply into her own. The slow, sensual circles became faster, more furious swirls, her fingers working the hard nub, her other hand stroking her belly slowly. "Brienne" she moaned softly, her pleasure clouding her voice, no more than a whisper in her ears, the name echoing through her, mind and body alike. 

With pleasure breaking on her shore, Arya let her mind slip back to Brienne's grasp, imaging her stern hand between her legs. The image sent her tumbling over the edge, her hand closed tightly around her own breast as waves of pleasure cascaded over her, filling her with pure nirvana, her legs trembling and her eyes rolled double in her head, Arya rode her peak, soaring high into the icy winter sky, the sky bearing the brilliant blue of Brienne's eyes, it's radiance bathing her in purest bliss. 

With a great sigh, Arya slumped back onto the bed, the sheets soaked with a mixture of sweat and her arousal. She let the damp material cling to her, her mind still floating leagues above her, soaring among the birds, tendrils of bliss binding her body in a beautiful embrace.

With her ragged breathe slowing, her mind returned to the frigid room. The stale air was bitter in her lungs. As her wetness dried in the cold air, Arya felt her hand slip back into her shirt, the thin wool rippling around it. Her hand seemed distant, as if she was watching another's, without control, only able to guess its movements. The ghostly hand slithered itself up, cupping itself around her meagre breasts, no more than bumps on her pale chest. Her skinny fingers caressing the soft flesh, she gasped aloud as her fingertips brushed her rigid teat. With a sigh she tore her hand away, her pleasure receding quickly. Sitting slowly, the tendrils that bound her slithering away, back into the sweat slicked sheets. 

As the pleasure finally faded, a different yearning arose, the yearning for warmth. As if viewing herself from above, staring deeply into herself from afar, Arya stood, her legs weak under her weight. I must see her, feel her. She thought, through clouded eyes. Snatching up her pillow and sheets, balling them under her arm, Arya laced her britches loosely and staggered to the heavy door. Taking a final glance at the dingy room, Arya slipped away, stumbling weakly down the dark hall to Brienne's room, the door ajar.

Brienne's room seemed far warmer, the candles burning lowly throughout the wide room. Brienne lay on her side on the crooked bed, her long legs slung over the end. Her bright hair shone on the candlelight, a tangled mess of straw, a few locks stained crimson. 

As carefully as she could with trembling legs, Arya crept to the bedside. Taking in the sight of Brienne's form before her, Arya laid her pillows down beside her, and spread her blanket over the bed. Her knees finally buckling, she slid quickly into the layers of threadbare wool. Searching desperately for the warmth she yearned for, Arya's hands wormed through the sheets, searching longingly for Brienne's warmth. As her fingers searched, a familiar tingling erupted at her core.  
Brienne's firm form met Arya suddenly, through the clouds of pleasure still looming over her eyes, she could make out Brienne's pale, freckled skin. "Arya" Brienne mumbled sleepily.   
Arya said nothing, only lay silently as the great woman relaxed again, slipping back into her dreams. Then, almost by instinct, Arya slid herself forward, cupping herself around Brienne, her head perched behind Brienne's, her hair tickling her cheek. 

Though she tensed, Brienne soon relaxed under her touch, her muscles softening in her palm.   
Arya smiled contentedly as Brienne's warmth filled her, her skin warm to the touch, and soft as silk. Suddenly, Brienne rolled around, now face to face with Arya, her breath warming her nose. Her tenseness returning, Brienne looked deeply into Arya's eyes, her own glittering in the candlelight, and said "My lady, I must protest, why are y-". As if by instinct Arya thrust herself forward, pressing her lips to Brienne's, ensnaring her in a long, passionate kiss. 

After what seemed an eternity, Arya pulled away, looking into Brienne's eyes again, their beauty danced before her. She was never one for beauty, the poems and tapestries septa mordane had insisted on studying were far too boring for her, the allure of discovering the castles secrets with bran, or watching her brothers pummel the stable boys into the dirt in the bailey. 

Brienne lay on her back, her mussed hair splayed over the pillow and her eyes closed in silent bliss, Arya perched over her, a hand cupped around a single, freckled cheek. "For you." She growled with a naturally wolffish grin, lowering her head again, taking Brienne's lips in hers, spreading them slowly. The kiss was long and wet, their lips gingerly embraced in nervous lust. Breaking the kiss, Arya moved her head down, working her way down, planting soft kisses over the freckled skin. "Arya" Brienne moaned softly. The softness of her voice soothed Arya, her trembling legs seemed to stiffen as Brienne's moans grew louder. With her lips skirting the collar of Brienne's tunic, Arya shot back to her mouth, embracing her again. Their mutual moans were stifled by they're union, the sounds of pleasure echoing through each other, Seperating only to take in deep breathes. Their union was finally broken by Brienne, pushing her self away she gasped, "I can't, I-" 

Opening her mouth to respond, Arya realised her words had betrayed her, they had fled her. With panic surging within her, Arya glanced about, searching, hoping for something, anything to help her. Around her the room hung in darkness, the candles mere embers. The silhouettes around her were twisted and blurred. Her panic reached its peak.

"Arya?" Brienne asked, her voice echoing though her like the shrieks of Harrenhal, bouncing off the walls of her being. Run! She thought suddenly, her limbs taking over, habit dictating her moves. Leaping from the bed, she bound from the room. Why?, she asked, why did I do it?, why did I go in that room? 

With her vision returning, the smoky haze that blinded her thinned. The early morning air was cool and soft, wrapping itself around her as she ran. The night sky was receding, the deep blues and black, replaced by a dark pink, laced with gold. The yard was coated in thick, grainy mud, it sloshed beneath her, sending flecks of wet slop spattering onto her britches, some even streaking her shirt. She needed to find somewhere, somewhere to go, somewhere to think. The wall will do.

 

She questioned herself all the way to the crumbling ruin of a wall. The stones were blackened and smoother than any other. They reminded her of the walls of Harrenhal, the stones seemed glassy, all lopsided and black as night. She had heard of the fall of Harrenhal, of how Aegon razed the castle with his dragons, letting its men boil in their own armour, even cooking their leader in his own tower. She had always cast some doubt on stories from old nan, but when she saw the scorched walls, the melting towers and the blackened for miles around.

Her memories were broken by the wet slobbering at her side, her hand tingling as the drool dried slowly in the night air. Around her, her pack was sat, staring curiously at her. From the sea of grey and black, Nymeria emerged, her muzzle streaked with blood, a fat rabbit between her jaws. With a wet thud, Nymeria dropped the rabbit into the mud, padding to her side, resting her huge head on her lap. "No need to worry, girl, I'm fine." Arya muttered, petting Nymeria's head softly, the wet fur drenching her hands. With a sigh Arya rose again, her legs trembling under her. Steadying herself against the slick stone, she started for the inn.

"Nymeria she called, she would not sleep alone tonight, she would sleep among her pack, she would rest among her kind, among beings that shared her traits, ferocity, cunning, and the ability to terrify Pod.


	8. Regret & Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Arya chapter tonight, hope you enjoy. 
> 
> " Arya gave a quick nod in answer and sat slowly on the bed, sheets still wrapped around her. Brienne reluctantly stepped closer but did not sit. "It regards your mother and," she said sullenly, her hand stroking Oathkeepers hilt softly, "Jaime Lannister." "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and I should probebly duck to avoid the trebuchets you will likely be launching my way because if my absence, well it it explainable. 
> 
> It has been quite a while since my last chapter and it has been a trial getting its succesor ready. What can I say, the wall is a bitch. 
> 
> This chapter is one of my favourites, maybe not to write but I find it exquisite to read, at least if you want this sort if thing, so as to not spoil anything, enjoy.

Chapter VIII: Regret & Desire

 

 

Why?, why?, why?, why?, Arya asked herself furiously from amongst the fur. Why?, Why did you kiss her? Arya's mind pulsed with memory, memory of Brienne, of her warmth, her surprising softness. Her skin was like the velvets she wore as a child, the horrid dresses her mother would force on her, just as smooth, just as soft. Even the smell of her hair stormed through Arya's mind, the strangely sweet scent, the musk, the tickle of tangled locks on her nose. The faint tang of sweat flooded her already pounding head, the real smell of people always intrigued her, it was far better than the flowers and oils Sansa used, they would fill whole rooms with the stench of tulips and rose petals, sickly sweet scents that would choke her as she stood. Sansa could parade around reeking of pudding, Arya would rather sweat, earth, even blood. Why?, she asked again, why am I thinking this?

Arya rolled to her side, trying desperately to shoo Brienne from her thoughts. To no avail. The thought of Brienne hounded her for what felt like hours, and could easily have been, by the time the darkness began to descend, the pack was sound asleep, all huddled together in tight, warm groups throughout the room, and other than the odd call of an owl the inn itself gave the only noise, the faint groaning of wood, and the whistle of wind through cracks. The smell though was queer, the smell of pork and stew and butter with bread flowed freely from the kitchens, but the beginnings of rot crept in from behind, from the loose cairns they covered the bodies in, just a pile of pebbles really.

It's more than they deserve, i should have left them to the crows. She reminded herself bitterly, at least that creature Rot had met a deserving fate. Last time she checked his corpse, the carrion crows had taken most if his face and the cold had near frozen the rest, the skin was blue and cracked, with sheets of black blood frozen across it. Her pack had been wary of his flesh, only the boldest took the faintest of sniffs at his legs, though none would approach the body itself, always keeping a fair distance as though they expected it to burst back into life. "Even if he did, I'd just kill him again." She thought aloud. 

With a sour sense of realisation Arya remembered Beric, remembered how he died and how he came back. That was differant, Beric was brought back by Thoros and his red god, R'hllor. Rot was a piss stained bandit, and even if Thoros was among them I would gladly kill him too. Arya had forgotten the brotherhood as of late, far too occupied with the Hound and Brienne, even timid little pod. She had let the brotherhood slip her list for far too long. 

Without another word Arya began her prayer, reciting each and every name with a revived tone of hate, and placing Beric, Thoros, Anguy, Lem and even Harwin at the end, making the prayer ungainly long. With her prayer over she sat up slowly, inspecting her pack. Nymeria lay by her side as ever, though Yoren was sat alert beside a slender grey bitch he'd been quite fond of, they shared a quick glance and sent back to they're rests, with Yoren almost seeming to give a curt nod. Laying back beside Nymeria Arya couldn't help but shiver, though the pack seemed to exude heat, it was not the warmth she desired, that rested with Brienne, in that scratchy straw bed. She was a fool to run, she could of slipped back into the sheets beside Brienne without another word, instead she panicked, fled the room as though it was ablaze and was now for the first time, huddled uncomfortably among her pack. Before, the pack had always given her comfort, even the rough wood flooring seemed like a feather mattress if surrounded by fur. But now it seemed even harder and more unyielding than the sharp crevasses she slept in while traveling through the vale. The memory of Brienne's supple skin on hers sent all other comforts away, now even Nymeria's fur felt rough as pine needles. 

She had to snap herself from these thoughts, she had to sleep. With a struggle, Arya eventually found a comfy spot and hurriedly plunged herself into darkness, her eyes clenched tightly shut and comforting thought buzzing through her mind. After exhausting all others, Arya desired to let her mind slip to Brienne once more, and with that small victory all her memories flooded back.

She began with slipping into the bed, the rough spun was coarse and torn in places, with a gaping hole along the top, where Brienne had tried to shield her modesty, only making the stolen sight all the more exciting. Soon even sweeter thoughts swept through her and the memory of the timid, tickling heat on her almost made Arya blush. Arya was no stranger to huddling with others for warmth, but never as she had with Brienne. She had huddled with Gendry before, on the road from Harrenhal, but he was always cold, and he never gave her the strange feeling Brienne did, the tingle in her stomach. and heat between her legs. Only a cold shoulder and a numb arm come morning. 

With the tingling building inside her again Arya tried desperately to drag her thoughts away, only making the matter worse. Before she could stop herself, Arya let her mind slip to what she had done in her room earlier that night, remembering the aching at her core as she dreamt, and of how her hands seemed to move without her command. Laying between the sweat slicked sheets she had experienced something she never had before, the lances of excitement as her fingers played numbly between her legs, and the maelstrom of pleasure that devoured her at its end. 

They were foreign feelings to her, even the bliss she felt while laying in silence after the act was done. Not all the feelings were stranger though, she had felt the tingling before, at the inn, with the whore in the red velvet dress, the sight of her huge bosoms inches from her face had been the first time she remembered it clearly, though there were faint memories of a sly tingling while she watched some of the women of Kings Landing, not the nobles but the servants, they seemed much more real than the ladies of court, who seemed more like statues than people and had no more tricks than a half trained dog. 

The strange fizzing feeling she got when she thought of Brienne was somehow different, stronger, with much more urgency. She couldn't clearly recall what happened after she "peaked", only a dazed memory of weak legs, cool air and the unending creaking of wood. Her last memory, hazy as it was, was of climbing into Brienne's bed, of running her fingers through the fabric, searching for Brienne, and to her own exhilaration, finding her. 

The tingling strengthened, her hands began to urge for freedom, working their way free of her grasp. 

Arya remembered running her hands through the course sheets, her fingers burrowing through the rough wool in search of warmth. Her fingers had curled when they found Brienne's form, almost surprised to find her. Her doubt at the reality of the search were shattered when she finally felt the soft skin of Brienne's back. Brienne's flesh tensed at her touch, the fine hairs standing on end and goose prickles spreading across her in streaks.. 

The sleepy haze set in around her, fanned by the pleasant memories, and thankfully cutting a swarth through the path of her now wandering fingers.

Her reverie was abruptly poisoned by the emerald eyes, golden hair and smug features that could only belong to that rat boy Joffrey. His gaze seemed to shadow her warm memories in a thick cloak of childish cruelty. He was the reason Mycah rotted beside a road, forgotten. He was the reason she had forced Nymeria away, throwing rocks at her, screaming for her to run, all to save her from the creatures lies. He was the reason fathers head still topped a pike in Kings Landing, why mother and Robb had gone to the twins, why her family had been slaughtered like cattle. But she would make them pay, each and every one of them. Lannisters always pay their debts, well, a wolf pays their debt as well as a lion, and mine is quite the fee.

Through the mist of hate building at her core, Arya felt a small shimmer of gratitude. If it wasn't for Joffrey, she would never have met Brienne, would never have felt the strange feelings, the tingling, the burning and the fierce yearning she felt at the sight of her. "At least I've got one thing to thank the turnip-faced little fuck for." She thought aloud. It was only a shame he'd died before she found him, king or not he was hers, his name topped her list, the prize of her hatred. She would carve her way though an army of knights if she had to, all to see the fear in his eyes at the end, when he finally realised just how painful her revenge was, he should count himself lucky he died, if not, she would hunt him, hound him till the day they both stood grey as Old Nan, and when she found him, he would learn what true cruelty was, tooth and nail.

Strange as it was, the image of Joffrey's blood soaked pleads were soothing to Arya, the sound of the disgusting boy gagging on his own blood sent shivers down her spine, each thought urging her deeper into sleep. 

And with a final image, of the look of fear in Joffrey's eyes as life slipped his grasp, sleep finally took Arya, smothering her in its sweet embrace, her mind free to wonder without her hand giving her trouble. At least that was what she thought.

 

By morning the howling wind had stopped, though the chill remained, deepened by the lack of breeze like a sea of soft ice, soft as air but cold as the shivering sea. Living in Winterfell, she got used to the cold, it snowed regularly and the air was always icy. But staying in kings landing so long, that natural resistance had fled, now she shivered like everyone else. 

Reluctantly, Arya wrenched herself away from the warm bundle at her side, standing slowly, she felt a strange feeling along her thighs, staring intently at her legs and searching quickly with her hands she found her britches were soaked above the knee. At first she thought shed pissed herself, but quickly she noticed the lack of smell. Pressing two fingers to her soggy thigh she brought the liquid to her nose, inhaling what little scent it had. She recognised it, though only from once before. The clear liquid had the same musky scent she had smelled while she lay among her sheets, while her hand played its wonders. Did this happen while I slept, this isn't how it was before? She asked herself, in her room it had been more a dampness, this was like someone poured a flagon of water on me. 

Swiftly realising she couldn't stay soaked in this weather, Arya snatched her tunic from beneath a fat wolf with salt and pepper fur and ran, or more accurately waddled, to her chamber, sealing the door behind her, but leaving the key unlocked. Once inside she kicked away her boots and skinned down the sodden leather, smallclothes and all. As the suddenly heavy skins hit the splintering wooden boards they made an oddly comforting slop. With her britches out of her way, Arya pulled of her shirt and dried her damp legs with the sleeve. "How in the seven hells did this happen while I slept?" She muttered to herself, dragging the thin wool down her thin legs, only wearing the already threadbare shirt further. 

Her mutterings were suddenly interrupted by the clank of wood on metal as the door swung open.

"Lady Arya?" Came a familiar voice, Brienne. 

Arya let out a loud squeal and pressed her tunic and shirt quickly to herself, but it was too late, Brienne had seen and seen well. Arya could do nothing but stare, before her Brienne stood tall and imposing, she wore dark brown leather britches, knee high leather boots, a dark blue tunic that seemed almost black and some of her armour, minus the breastplate, tasset and gorget, Oathkeeper hung proudly at her waist.

"My lady?" Brienne asked sheepishly, averting her eyes. "Is there anything I could do?"

Sensing Brienne had taken the first assumption she had, Arya straightened herself quickly, but pressed her fabric tighter to her skin. "I spilt a pale of water, trying to feed the pack," she lied, "I'm searching for new ones" whether of not Brienne believed her Arya couldn't know, but Brienne kept her eyes firmly rooted on the room, not meeting her eye or even glancing at the mirror Arya suddenly remembered stood behind her. 

"I'd offer you some of mine my lady, but I'm afraid they would not fit you." Brienne offered curtly, Arya wasn't sure if that was an attempt at a joke but it brought a giggle all the same. "I could ask podrick, my lady, he is of similar build with you."

As true as it was, that made Arya laugh, she clenched her clothing tight and erupted into a fit of laughter. Peeking up, Arya spotted a thin smile line Brienne's bruised face, though her glittering eyes betrayed that she was more confused than amused. Arya had always been good at reading faces, she knew how to tell if someone lied by their eyes, how they widened and dried when their owner lied, unfortunately she wasn't the only one who had this sense, her mother could sense lies in her children too, and no matter how hard she tried, Arya could never slip past her mothers all seeing eye with a slip of the tongue. 

Wresting herself from the torrent of giggles, Arya finally met Brienne's eyes. They stood for what felt like hours, thought it was only a few moments staring into each other. Brienne's eyes were even more beautiful in daylight, they shone sapphire blue, like two great gems. After a moment Brienne broke her gaze and lowered her head. "My lady." She said awkwardly and bowed, slipping from the room. "Idiot!" She scolded herself once Brienne's footsteps faded, "why did you laugh, why did you do it again, you may as well have leaped through the window and fled into the woods?!" 

Glancing down, Arya realised she had dropped her tunic, it pooled stiffly at her feet, leaving her naked for all but the thin shirt she still pressed to her chest in a dingy room with an unlocked door. A pang of dread rang through her as she desperately tried to remember when she had dropped it, before or after Brienne had left. 

Once upright, she realised just how thin her shirt was, she was flush with gooseprickles, her skin felt tight on her, stiff and frozen. And while running her hands up her arms to warm, she found her nipples were hard as steel, poking through her shift of a shirt. Pressing her tunic to her waist again she noticed the thick mattes of fur that clung to it, likely from the fat wolf who stole it. "Bloody fur ball." She muttered as she moved towards the bed, scooping up the frigid sheets to replace her tunic. 

Soon there was a knock at the door, followed by a shy, "My lady" 

"Come in" Arya called, sensing Brienne's presence.

Brienne entered the room shyly, a bundle under her right arm and her head bowed low. "For you my lady," she said lowly, placing the bundle on her bed. "It is all we could find that may fit you." She had never seen someone so nervous, she had seemed at ease battling the Hound but was scared of her, it was Arya's fault, she'd entered her room and started their kiss, then fled when she objected. 

As the silence reached its breaking point Brienne asked quickly, "my lady, I've meant to speak with you," a faint sense of hope shot up Arya's spine at that, "regarding my mission" though she had wished to speak about the events of the night, Arya needed to know what had happened while her and the Hound traveled, she had heard of the blackwater from the Hound and seen the twins with her own eyes, but her knowledge of the world was dim. 

Arya gave a quick nod in answer and sat slowly on the bed, sheets still wrapped around her. Brienne reluctantly stepped closer but did not sit. "It regards your mother and," she said sullenly, her hand stroking Oathkeepers hilt softly, "Jaime Lannister." 

That name sent a small shiver down her spine, the kingslayer, the man who killed Jory and tried to kill Bran. Brienne must of read her mind because after a moment she leaned in and asked, "should I continue my lady?" Arya nodded again and she continued, "I was a sworn sword of Renly Barathion, I served on his rainbow guard." She recanted slowly, sadness in her eyes, "when my king was murdered, I entered your lady mothers service, guarded her for many months until Jaime Lannister was captured and brought to Riverrun. 

"Go on" Arya urged when Brienne paused. 

"While a prisoner, Ser Jaime was attacked by Karstark men, seeking to kill him for revenge," she continued, "fearing for the fate of her daughters if he should perish, lady Catalyn ordered me to escort Ser Jaime to Kings Landing, to exchange him for you and your sister Sansa" Arya was somehow enthralled by Brienne's speech, even after being beaten to a pulp by the Hound she kept to her courtesies, and as much as courtesy disgusted her, Arya could only feel admiration for such stubbornness. "We sailed from Riverrun under cover of darkness, as King Robb had forbade the exchange, after weeks of travel we were captured by Northmen under Roose Bolten and Vargo Hoat," Arya knew Bolten, she had served as his cup bearer and after she left she had heared some Frey soldiers talking of how he had murdered Robb himself, while she wiped their blood from her blade she added new names to her list. 

"While we were captive, Ser Jaime saved me from, eh, from-" Brienne stumbled on the reason, her eyes shifting around nervously, she obviously feared to say, "And for that they took his hand. We spent weeks as captives, Jaime's stump festering and both of us beaten daily for amusement." Bastards! Arya thought angrily as Brienne went on. 

"Soon we reached Harrenhal, and there Lord Bolten released Ser Jaime, to finish the exchange, and to save himself from Lord Tywin's wrath should Jaime have been harmed." The idea of Roose Bolten running scared brought a smile to Arya's face. 

The way she speaks about Jaime, it's like she is remembering an old friend. Arya couldn't see how they could become friends, Brienne held honour above all else and Jaime Lannister had less honour than a murderous bilge rat.

Her wonders were rent by another sudden flare of silent anger when Brienne stared away and muttered, "without me, I was to stay at Harrenhal as "entertainment" for the goat," Bastard! Arya thought again, this time with much more anger. "After Jaime was sent away, I was taken to the bailey, given an old wooden sparring sword, and then" Brienne trailed off, "thrown into a bear pit." Bastards! Arya's mind howled, this time aloud. 

Glancing back to Brienne's face Arya found her gazing down, a look of confused astonishment written clear on her face. 

Regardless of her shock Brienne continued slowly, "while the crowd howled wagers, I fought the creature with only the wooden sword I was given, soon the bear shattered my blade and wounded me along my shoulder," Arya knew the scar, she had seen it while she undressed Brienne when they arrived and again the night before, she had pressed her cheek to the pale, puckered flesh, it shared Brienne's warmth and was nearly as soft. 

"I thought I meant to die that day, but Jaime returned, threatening the guards with death or retribution should I die," with the anger bubbling back down, Arya could hardly think, but she stayed rooted to the bed, her hands clenched tightly around the rough sheets, they scratched her bare thighs while she sat, making her toes curl uncontrollably, though even the irritating scratching could not tear her gaze away. 

"Jaime saved me," she muttered, "not just from the bear but from its owners, we left together that day and continued on to Kings Landing."

Arya's heart steadied while Brienne recounted the rest of the tale, of arriving at Kings Landing and to Arya's delight, of Joffrey's wedding. Though the detail was not as gruesome as she desired, Arya decided not to push Brienne for details of Joffrey's death, she respected Jaime far too much to disrespect his son, monster or not. Soon Brienne came to her point, to her quest. 

 

"After the wedding Jaime called me to the white sword tower, there he told me of your sister, and of you." She finished meekly, the last few words no more than whispers and her eyes firmly averted to Arya's. "Most people believe you dead my lady, and your sister vanished during the chaos of the wedding, with all the court blaming her and her husband," Brienne started again slowly, "I met lady Sansa that day my lady, she was not one to murder, she was kind and courteous" 

"He told me of his vow to your lady mother, and reminded me of my own." Her voice was growing prouder and even more sincere, she meant every word, Arya could see the truth in her eyes. "I swore to protect Lady Catalyn and I failed, Jaime swore to return you and your sister, but with his service bound to the kingsguard and Sansa missing he could not follow his oath. 

Arya had never wanted to believe her mother had freed the kingslayer, but now the truth hit her and she understood. "So you took his place," Arya murmured, "you took the oath he couldn't keep?" Brienne nodded in answer. 

"I swore to protect Lady Catalyn, now I must protect what little remains of her, you and Sansa are the only Starks that live, and neither shall perish while I draw breath!" Brienne said proudly, her eyes glimmering with barely contained tears. 

Arya admired Brienne before, she adored her now, the truest person she had met since she left Winterfell, a true night and stubbornly loyal. Before Brienne could finish, Arya dropped the sheets, letting them fall softly to the floor and threw her self forward, meeting Brienne's lips and worming her arms around her frame tightly. 

Brienne recoiled but didn't not run, nor did she break their kiss, her body was stiff and unyielding but her lips were soft as rose petals and far sweeter. Their embrace continued for what felt like hours, their lips dancing slowly before them and their eyes bound together. 

Brienne's eyes were even prettier inches from hers, the shimmering sapphire of her eyes rippled with the white, like Oathkeepers blade they flowed along each other, distinct but as one. 

To her surprise, Brienne didn't pull away as she had before, she only stood, growing more and more flush as Arya worked their lips together, and, slowly, she started to respond, to move her lips with hers, and her breathing grew as ragged as Arya's. 

Moments later, and starved of air, Arya eased herself slowly apart, gulping air like a drowning sailor. "My, my lady, I, I'm- " Arya cut her off, bringing her hand to Brienne's face, cupping it softly in her palm, it felt almost like a peach, soft and fair. 

"No, no more words, no more glances across the tables, no more modesty, only you." Arya whispered into her ear, the words flowing from her husky and drowned in desire. Before she could answer, Arya pressed their mouths together again. This time Brienne did not retort, she followed and soon her lips danced with Arya's, smacking moistly and their tongues starting to explore the others. Soon they stood tightly together, Arya's bare chest stiff from the chill of the steel riveted into the shirt, Brienne's hands hanging at her sides and hers cupped snugly around Brienne's cheeks.

As she pulled away for air again, Brienne's hand met her, brushing softly at her waist, sending ribbons of goose prickles over her. Even this tiny touch was enough to dissolve what remained of her legs will to stay, and with her hands wrapped so tightly around Brienne's muscular frame, they fell, crashing onto the bed in a fit of giggles and barely contained moans. 

On the bed they lay on their sides, their eyes still locked together but the rift between them seemed to Arya as though the trident flowed between them. Arya corrected this with a few quick rolls, she slid herself forward and rolled back, rolling Brienne over her onto her back and herself upright on Brienne's waist, her legs lacing around Brienne' instinctively. 

For reasons she could not guess, Brienne still averted her eyes from her nakedness, staring deeply into her eyes and only her eyes. Arya had no such problems, she gazed down on all of Brienne, the clothes could not hide the memories she held. The urge for more engulfed her and she lowered her head again, meeting Brienne's lips with even more fervor. "My la-" Brienne started quietly between kisses but Arya silenced her with a single finger, pressing it softly to her lips.

"There are no ladies here," she growled huskily, "I'm Arya Stark, I'm no lady," she continued, her hips starting to grind against the soft leather of Brienne's tunic, the pleasure fueling her boldness. "And you... You are-" 

Before she could finish, a loud howl pierced their little world, the screech sending shivers cold and cruel as ancient ice through her, tickling her stomach with a sickly tang. In unison both Arya and Brienne glanced from the door to each other and to the door again. 

After a fumble for freedom, Arya slid into her new clothing, a pair of thick black woollen britches with leather worked into the waist and lower leg, over her shirt she pulled a thin grey tunic followed by an oddly comfortably fitting black leather brigandine, the iron plating that lined it was cold to the touch and her boots were stiff from the chill. Snatching up Needle, Arya saw Brienne leaned against the wall beside the door, one great hand clutched around her chest. 

After falling twice to put on her boots, Arya padded to Brienne's side, seeing the pain in her eyes, she pressed a hand to her back and leaned in, "Brienne, are you hurt?" She asked quickly, buckling her sword belt. "Fine my l-, I'm fine, my wounds aren't yet fully healed, we should go." Arya could only agree, they had to find the source, that screech was a howl of pain and definitely not human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was an agony to write but I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I hate excuse for laziness but "the wall" is one I know to be true, evidenced by my absence. After a half hour of writing, my mind went on a tangent and I spent the next hour catching up on my astrophysical research, this is not inherently bad, given it's my normal routine to do a minimum of three hours of research a day. 
> 
> The problem is what followed, a five hour tangent on the history of bread, yes I finished it, I now know an unhealthy amount about bread and it's origins, I don't think I'll have a sandwich for a month.
> 
> Anyway, this distraction thrust me head first into a creative void, I know roughly where the story will go, but cannot find the right path. This affliction is known as the wall and is observed in most professions requiring creativity, and toe it's like having a PCP addicted monkey yank any ideas you had out of you with a bungee rope and a meat cleaver. Not much hyperbole intended.
> 
> Luckily for me I manged to strike the creative jackpot last night, resulting in this. I truly adore this chapter for many reasons, but key among them is the fact I hate it.  
> Not the chapter itself, but the gulf it's creation left in my mind, searching for some literary creativity left me bored. And boredom is like kryptonite to a creature like me.
> 
> Anyway I've rambled on long enough, I've only to apologise for the potential lack of realistic emotion, I've explained before that my emotionlessness might flatten any attempt to portray believable feeling, and like an accent, I have no way to tell if I succeded, I have only you my dear readers, only you can tell me if it worked. 
> 
> P.S I've got a special prize for whoever can spot a subtle reference I left. 
> 
> I thank all of you for viewing my folly, please do leave comments, praise, criticism and ideas are all welcome.
> 
> Till next we meet. 
> 
> Valar Dohaeris


	9. Hidden Passions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My lady, I've meant to speak with you," Brienne said, bolder than she intended, "It regards your mother and," Brienne continued slowly, her voice heavy, a hand finding Oathkeepers hilt, caressing the supple leather of the grip, almost numbly. "Jaime Lannister."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again.
> 
> Well, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, it's the last ill do for a short time. Now don't go worrying, I'm not abandoning my folly, I've decided to spend some time updating my previous efforts. 
> 
> With this being the end of act one, I decided to take some time to read my old chapters again, suffice to say I'm more than a little dissapointed. 
> 
> I'm hardly green in the area of fan fic but it's been quite a while since my last attempt. My sword hand was rather rusted, should we say, when I began this project. Anyway, to stop my notorious rambling, enjoy and do please leave your opinion, I am but a mere scribe and the reader is the ruler of all.

Chapter IX: Hidden Passion 

 

~o~ Brienne ~o~

 

That night, after Arya left, Brienne got no rest to speak of, tossing and turning with the vain hope of some solace from the damned buzzing inside her, the rumbling at her core almost urging her to follow Arya, to find her and ask her, even to touch her, she had felt so warm at Brienne's side, her muscles now calling for a relief she could not give. 

No! She thought, She is Lady Starks daughter, get your mind from the moat. She couldn't follow this route again, after what happened last time she would not leave her heart so bare again. Brienne had felt similar urges before, when she was younger, a mere maid, no more than a year or two older than Arya. Brienne was no stranger to nudity, as a girl she would swim the sea beside Tarth, or more accurately waddle around in waist high tides, pretending to be a great sailor or pirate lord, even go exploring flooded coves with Galladon naked as her nameday. Though even after she could swim, her handmaiden insisted on staying while she bathed, as if standing vigil over her, like precious gem or dead king, Brienne was neither but allowed it, if only to sate her maids superstitions.

The woman had been terrified of Brienne drowning since before she could remember. According to the tales of the castle, each almost as dishonest as the last. The tale told that after when she was very young, three or four, she nearly drowned in the tub, after that her handmaiden had insisted on staying out of superstition, even after Brienne was grown she would sit at the end of the room, sewing or reading. Over time, Brienne grew accustomed to her presence, even enjoying it, a soak could be boring without a friend to chat with. 

Eyelli was her name, she dothraki but had lived on Tarth since long before Brienne's birth. A women of Lady Catalyn's age, she was no less beautiful than a younger woman, her skin was smooth olive and her eyes almond-like and as piercing as any lance. The story goes that she was found at the shore with a barnacle strewn crate of arrows, gilded arrows made of something the Maester's called obsidian.

Eyelli's screams of pain were screeched in guttural dothraki, both curses and things far worse.  
One of the knights on lord Selwyn's service recognised the language, lead to her being given the nickname Loqam, dothraki for arrow. 

Eyelli was a fine woman, she had taught Brienne the arts of harp and needle but she was also a fighter, as all dothraki women were, every one as fierce as the men. After her lord father had consented to Brienne's training, Eyelli had found her among the blades and dust of the armoury, and told her of her life, of how she was driven from her khalasar as a child and fought with a company of sellswords in her youth, even revealing the truth of her arrival on Tarth.

Eyelli told her of her travels under the Lysene sellsword captain Nak'ar. She told Brienne of how, while on a contract in the narrow sea, they had been attacked by a stray pirate galley. 

After a quick firefight, the pirates were sunk but their ship was beyond repair and how while they panicked for shore, they had accidentally drifted into Shipbreaker bay, the storms and deceptive waters taking the ship and it's crew, leaving only her, clinging to an old crate until the tide found shore. That shore was Tarth, on the sandy beaches beside Evenfall Hall. The same beaches Brienne would frolicking on years later. 

Brienne had heard from guards and even her father of the night Eyelli washed up on shore, the tale telling of how her father, Lord Selwyn had saved the girl while riding with his wife, her mother. Given the circumstances of living on an island, all inhabitants of Tarth swam, and with that they all knew of the techniques sailors use to revive drowned men, pressing hard on their chests and blowing ones own breath down into their lungs. Her lord father was both a islander and a sailor, when he and Brienne's lady mother stumbled on Eyelli, soaked and still beside rubble and ash, he had rushed to her side, while her mother rode back to summon the Maester. 

After she was well enough to stand, Eyelli had bent the knee, swearing herself to Lord Selwyn before her gods and his, pledging to protect him and his descendants as long as she could, swearing before every god that would hear, old, new, red or blue. Much as Brienne had for Lady Catalyn, except with a little more drowning. 

Eyelli had been a handmaiden, tutor and friend to Brienne most of her life, teaching her not only needlework, which neither of them could manage without a significant amount of pain. The more ladylike subjects bored them both, and was unnecessary to boot, the Maester who's name she couldn't remember had taught her most things, literacy, history and sums while the Septas dealt with the daintier things, needlework, poatry and the like. Most nights, after the Maester had left and the Septas fled, they would chatter about their favourite blades or armour. Spending hours arguing over the superiority of salets over pot helms. 

More than once they had slipped from her chambers to sit on the cliffsides, feeding each other fruit and cheese and discussing different kinds of spearhead. It had not meant anything then, Eyelli saw her as no more than a friend and Brienne was too young to know of such things and Eyelli never gave her means to doubt this. 

But not long before she left for Storms end, that assurance was thrown into disarray. After a wedding of a knight, a friend of her fathers, a stout man with short brown hair and no sense of humour she could find, not to mention truly disgusting amount of wine, Brienne had woken from the resulting drunken stupor naked, in a ruin of a bed with Eyelli at her side, their bodies entwined and a surprisingly hilarious look of shock on the servant delivering her breakfast.

This was more a shock to Brienne than the servant, though she was not the one who ran away screeching bloody murder at the sight of the other. The incident had required much explanation, maybe not as much as the accident with the catapult but far more than she could give. Her last memory of that night was hazy at best, faint blurs of the crowd and the flurry of passing stairs, the rest was too distorted to remember. 

Brienne was not a fond drinker, she would take wine at feasts out of courtesy and drink ale when water was not viable but for reasons beyond her memory she had sunk down at least three flagons of spiced dornish red that night, at least according to the servants she questioned later. 

"My lady was pale as milk glass when she arrived, she ordered a trio of flagons from a small table at the dark far corner of the hall." The plump woman had said, her teeth clattering in fear. Brienne meant no harm to the girl, she wore a sword almost everywhere she went, even cinching her beloved blade over a dark brown satin dress a suitor had sent, her father forcing her into the ugly bolt of cloth.

After a few moments, Brienne noticed the mirror that hung high on the wall beside her bed, getting a clear view of herself and Eyelli, quite the odd sight. A warrior as she was, Eyelli was no more than five foot in height, Brienne could match the hound, meaning the mismatched image she saw in the mirror sent the urge to laugh through her but she was paralysed, unable to do anything more than lay there, her clothes strewn across the room, Eyelli's small frame laced around her side.

To Brienne's surprise, her father was far from angry as she'd expected, he seemed far too amused, losing himself in a short fit of laughter when the servants brought her before him, gasping how he'd "guessed so" over and over. 

Like any other noble Brienne knew the stories of the age of heroes, of Bran the builder, the warrior queen Nymeria and Durran Godsgreif. Where all Stormmen knew of Durran and Northmen Bran, only the Dornish knew of Nymeria passively, the warrior queen was not mentioned in the Stormlands but Brienne knew, she had obsessed over her stories for months on end. 

The Dornish were known for their adventurousness between the sheets and their ancestors, the Rhoyner made them seem celibate by comparison. Most men kept concubines and a sparse few true paramours, man and woman alike. Nymeria was no different, she was known for her tastes and tried never to hide them. 

Sleep came late to Brienne, the pale blue light before dawn drifted through the open window, giving the room a misty shine. She emptied her mind, only then did sleep take her. When morning came she rose stiffly and rolled from the bed, the cool wood below her tingling her toes. 

After a moment of stretching, Brienne slid to the bundles beside the window. Her clothes were ragged, reeked of sweat and stained with blood. Inside the smaller bundle she found her spares, thick britches and boot, cotton smallclothes, shirt and a dark blue tunic she was given by Jaime at Kings landing, when her old tunic was spoilt by stray wine. 

Brienne slipped each on in turn, finally finding the gentle laces, drawing the tunic tight, the supple dyed leather was soft on her stiff neck. As she laced the tunics front, Brienne let her hand slip to its breast, over the sigil sewn into the leather, rough but soft. It had been near on two years since she last saw Tarth.

Allowing her mind find the sapphire waves again, Brienne felt the soft tickle of an idea.  
With Lady Lysa dead and almost all the other Starks dead or captured, Arya will need shelter. a sudden creak above her drew her gaze, only another pigeon nesting in the numerous holes in the roof.

Dismissing the scuttle, Brienne thought again. I swore to keep the stark girls safe, but the eyrie is abandoned and taking them back to kings landing, well, I may as well take their heads myself if that was to happen. A sword would be a mercy compared to what Cersai Lannister would do, even to Arya. Another flutter above her head. But Tarth, Tarth is safe, it is isolated and obscure, father has given no king his strength and, and-. Her thoughts were wrenched from her by another, even louder flutter above her. "Bloody things!" She muttered and returned to her lacing. 

Over her clothing, Brienne hooked her armour, vambrace, greave and pauldron, she would have attached her breastplate but the dent in the front was far too large. "It's a wonder whatever did this didn't take me too." Brienne thought aloud. The dent was at least seven inches across, and so deep the steel must of tickled her spine. Her gorget was missing and the ravaged tasset was torn in two. 

Feeling oddly naked without steel at her breast, Brienne cinched Oathkeeper about her waist, taking extra care to fasten it tight. Oathkeepers hilt was dented and a few large rubies had been knocked free. It didn't bother Brienne, the glittering gems were bound to free themselves eventually, and now the pommel was smoother. Sliding Oathkeeper from its scabbard, Brienne found it had not been properly cleaned, there were streaks of rust coloured blood near the guard and the blade was pinker than usual. 

Brienne would scrub it later, right now she needed to find Arya, to learn what had happened while she slept and tell her of her task. Taking in a cool gulp of air, Brienne strode from the room. Outside, the inn was warm and smelt thickly of dog, Brienne had met Arya's pack, thin, fat, lean and muscled, all different shapes and sizes but all bore a quilt of thick fur. But as large as some of the wolves were they paled in comparison to their Direwolf queen, even the largest male looked a pup beside Nymeria, the Direwolf was taller than a well bred pony and far stronger. 

When she straightened her slouching back, Brienne's spine whistled with pain, though she did not cringe. Stiffening her face stubbornly, Brienne started down the hall, each step sending faint wisps of pain through her, but not her spine this time, only her ribs. The hall creaked wickedly from the wind outside, the distant clank of branch on glass. Toward the end of the hall Brienne spied a curled pile of gray, fuzzy and at least knee high. Guessing it would be easier to find Arya by finding the wolves, Brienne half strode half limped towards the shaggy pile. As she approached the pile rustled, a large head emerging from the quilted ball of fur. 

Brienne paused a moment to watch the wolf unfurl, if it saw me as a threat to its mistress, I could hardly fight it off, I can barely dress myself without wincing. Luckily, the huge golden discs that watched her were familier, Nymeria. Smiling softly, Brienne approached, leaning down as far as she could without pain, which wasn't much considering her suddenly inconvenient height and pet the Direwolf gently behind her ears, just as she had before. 

Once Brienne craned herself painfully upright, Nymeria lolled her tongue, cocked her head and finally curled herself back to bed. Realising were she stood, Brienne stooped down again and asked, "where is lady Arya, I desire an audience?" The Direwolf merely cocked her head again. The bloody great thing understands me. With a small poke in the back with the toe of Brienne's boot, Nymeria rose to look at her, "well?" She asked impatiantly. I must be losing my mind, I'm asking directions from a wolf. 

To Brienne's surprise Nymeria seemed to understand the urgent tone in her voice, even when she'd tried to conceal it. The Direwolf merely gave a quick snort, almost a sigh and padded slowly down the hall, only going as far as two doors then stopped, lowering herself onto her haunches.

As Brienne approach, an obviously annoyed look on her face, the great Direwolf turning her head to the heavy wooden door and gestured, flicking her snout in the doors direction, Brienne took that as an answer.

Following the Direwolfs lead, staggered her way to the thick door, pausing a moment to straighten her tunic and flatten her britches. Finally, giving Nymeria a final pet, Brienne slid the door open, not pushing hard but the high, slipped hinges made it swing open regardless. "Lady Arya?" She asked hoarsely as it had began to open, though the sight that greeted her gave no reason for question.

Inside stood Arya Stark, naked as her nameday, a thin shirt in one hand and her ragged leather tunic in the other. Before her instincts forced her eyes away, Brienne spied Arya dragging the sleeve of the shirt down her thigh, drying it, strip by strip. Beside Arya was a pair of mud crusted boots and some britches that even from this distance she could see were soaked. 

Both gave a choked squeal when their eyes met, even if it was for no more than a moment. Arya jumped half out of her own skin and pressed her clothing to her, the damp shirt to her chest and the tunic to the juncture of her thighs. By instinct, Brienne stepped forward a pace, averted her eyes as far from Arya's body as she could and slid the door shut behind her.

After a sickening moment of silence she choked up, "My lady?" She asked sheepishly, still averted her head inhumanly far, she could nearly see the cracks in the door behind her. "Is there anything I could do?"

Sealing her eyes tightly, Brienne shifted her head, keeping her eyes firmly away, but as they passed the flesh before her, Brienne spied a flicker of silver behind Arya. Without thinking, Brienne's gaze flew to the glimmer, finding only a mirror, it stood tall and wide, near as long as her and not particularly dirty, and it was squarely behind Arya, giving her a brilliantly clear view of Arya's tensed bottom. 

After another tense moment of silence, Arya glanced about nervously and blurted, "I spilt a pail of water, trying to feed the pack," Arya lied weakly, "I'm searching for new ones." 

Giving a moments glance to Arya's cold grey eyes, Brienne could see a mixture of embarrassment and confusion, but no anger. As obvious as the lie was, Brienne wondered if Arya even knew how her legs were soaked, given the look on her face. 

"I'd offer you some of mine my lady, but I'm afraid they would not fit you." Brienne offered, remembering her courtasies. The offer sent Arya into a fit of giggles, her own signature laugh, though it took a moment for her to realise what she had just uttered, the realisation sending a quick smile over her lips, she suppressed it as well as she could. 

Once Arya's laughter had slowed, Brienne thought again, weighing each word she must say and settled on the least bizarre thought ricocheting around her suddenly blank mind. "I could ask Podrick, my lady, he is of similar build with you." Could've done worse. It was only when she glanced at her again did Brienne realise Arya had dropped her tunic, her womenhood barely concealed by a hanging sleeve of threadbare wool. Does she even know? 

Arya did not answer, so after yet another haunting silence, Brienne bowed her self and muttered her courteous farewells, sliding back through the door from which she came, taking in a much wanted strangled gasp of air. 

The same queer fluttering began in her belly in earnest, just as it had that night. Shaking her head to banish such thoughts from her mind, Brienne started down the hall to the exceedingly creaky staircase. However, the sudden flash of flesh had distracted her from the pain in her chest, but this veil was torn from her as she staggered down the hall.

In the common room, the pack was still huddled tightly together, in the same round bundles she had seen before. Given Pods fear of wolves, Brienne guessed pretty quickly that he was not likely to be frolicking with the pack and so, retreated from the room. With the common room to her back, Brienne staggered once more to the ramshackle remains of the inns front entrance, the door was near splintered and was held together loosely with rope and rusty nails, Brienne guessed the door was unlikely to close but did not risk breaking it further, instead she slid through the open doorway into the cool morning air. 

Outside was near as dismal as the inn had been, with a mottled grey sky, ripe mud surrounding the inn and the beginnings of a storm on the horizon. The yard was no cheerier, the mud was deep and wet, a thin shimmer of soft snow veiled the dull green of the grass.

Inside the stable, the air hung stale, the familiar whiff of horse and oats. It took a moment for Brienne to find pod, he was still abed, huddled tightly beneath both cloak and furs in a corner, numerous saddlebags and blankets acting as mattress and pillow both. Brienne needn't poke him or call his name, Pod sat up lightning fast, a long iron dirk clenched in his fist. 

However, the steel was not the first thing Brienne noticed, it came second only to the glowing pink scar that straddled the boys face, from brow to cheek, along the curve of his eye and ending in a sickening curl. From the colour of the flesh, the scar must be fresh, not yet healed, it glowed a ripe pink, the colour of fresh salmon flesh. 

They stared at each other a while, each trying to grasp the others identity, though as before Brienne could mutter a greeting Pod sprang to his feet, dirk still in hand but lowered and harmless. 

"My lady," pod muttered nervously, obviously grasping the situation in which he stood. "I, I was not expecting you to be walking so soon, I..., I thought you would still be abed." The answer was half a question. "I,I was in need of a walk, my legs are nearly healed," she lied, "Pod, what happened, I, I-" 

"I was injured, while taking the inn, a woman leaped from a corner, and, I,I-" pod stammered, his hand drifting to his cheek. Brienne was not womanly, not by a wildlings mile, but the sight of this dainty boy hiding his scar from view, with hand and shadow sent a surge of motherly care through her, she wanted to grab him, hug him, comfort him. These thoughts were rare to Brienne, for as long as she could reliably remember she'd wanted to study swordplay, this left no time for poetry and most social interactions, feasts, weddings, namedays, even funerals were thing Brienne avoided if she could, much to the chagrin of her father, or anyone with a shred of decorum. 

In the end she settled to place a hand on Pods shoulder, pressing down stern enough to draw his eyes from the apparently fascinating straw at his feet. When their eyes finally met, Brienne paused, searching the once bulging voice for an answer to the surprisingly pretty eyes that stared up at her through thick, batting eyelashes. 

With her voice fled, Brienne inclined her head, Pod seemed to understand the sentiment, he raised his hand again, covering the puckered flesh. After a moment of stale silence, Pod pulled away, his head still bowed. "Is there anything you need my lady?"

Thankfully, these words did not escape her, "I, ah, I've been sent to get some spare clothing."  
Pod looked her up and down, a doubting look in his eyes. "For Lady Arya" she finished sternly, the tone seemed to cancel the assumption and brought some colour back to his drawn face.

The boys even shyer than before, the cost of battle is steep. "Aye" pod answered almost gleefully, turned on his heel to plunged his hands into the heaped saddlebags, opening flap after flap until he found a small bundle.

"This should do my lady, the tunic may be a bit tight but Lady Arya should fit well." The words were slightly doubtful, as if he wasn't sure of his own words. Brienne took the bundle softly, it was lighter than she would think. Brienne patted pod on the shoulder one last time, inclined her head and slid from the stable, the muscles tensing in her legs. 

Halfway across the yard, as brought a gust of wind whipped past her. Sending her hair flowing back, like a great candle wick and a scent that brought wrinkles to her nose. Searching around for a source, Brienne spied a purple black shape, dusted in snow and hunched below two taut ropes. Before she could investigate, a handful of stiff fingers wrapped themselves around her arm. 

Brienne twirled quickly on her heel, her hand instinctively finding Oathkeepers hilt. Before her stood a stooped man, long grey robes hiding his boney figure and a Maester's chain hung at his neck, his identity was all but obvious. "Maester?" She asked curtly, her brows furrowing as she struggled to draw out the old mans name. 

"Wylber," the Maester answered coldly, his fingers closing tighter around her arm, the flesh near as cold as his gaze. "I know you, the Maid of Tarth, a hard face to forget." he continued, somehow even colder than before, his tone flat and stale, as though his speech was foreign to his tongue. "I saw you fight in Renly's melee." 

The mention of Renly sent a mix of sorrow and anger to her tongue. "You served King Renly?" Brienne asked with a much more cutting tone than she intended. The mention of Renly was a sore point for her, the anger of her failure still stung her deep.

"Aye, I served with the other Maester's in the sick camps, with the novices and Septas," his tone was warmer but still sour. "Renly's war laid many men before me," the tone was acid made flesh, almost accusing. 

"They died fighting for their king, they did their duty, every war spawns pain." Brienne snapped back, wondering where this would go. "Aye," Maester Wylber chuckled, his eyes still rooted firmly on Brienne's. "Always pain, only pain." The Maester loosened his grip, each finger creaking as they fled her and with a final chortle, strode down the yard, his back hunched double. 

Brienne thought on the Maester's words as she limped slowly up the stairs, each step creaking as loud as his frail fingers. Brienne clenched the bundle tightly under her arm, using the other to near drag herself up the fragile staircase. A strange thought found her then, as she heaved her weight over each new step. I wonder which is weaker, my bones of the Maesters. The thought brought a quick smile to her lips, here she was, the Maid of Tarth, brought to her knees by a few planks of rotten wood.

A cruel lance of pain shot up Brienne's side as she threw herself over the last stair, her hand shooting to the bannister, barely halting her fall. After a short fork of pain, Brienne wrenched herself to her feet, brushing herself off and starting for Arya's door.

"My lady?" She asked, knocking her knuckles softly against the door. "Come in!" Arya answered after a beat. Not wanting to stay standing for much longer, Brienne slid the door open, making sure to keep her hand firmly on the doorknob, half to stop the door flinging itself open like before and half to take the weight off her howling legs. 

Brienne entered the room shyly, bowing her head and clenching her arm tightly around Pods bundle. Glancing up, Brienne saw that Arya had dropped the shirt, now she knelt on her bed, the thin sheets hiked up to her shoulders, though Brienne couldn't help but notice the two protruding peaks, peeking through the sheer cotton like dew drops on a pale brown field. 

Realising how long she much of been staring listlessly at her chest, Brienne limped closer to Arya, setting the bundle onto the bed softly. "For you my lady," Brienne muttered, "It is all we could find that may fit you." Even Brienne could hear the shyness in her voice, though she was powerless to overcome it. Why? She questioned herself, why are you so damned scared of her, she's no different to you. 

Brienne didn't know why she was so nervous, she'd felt less fear in Renly's camp, on the eve of war, men around her affixing armour and honing their steel. Even then her nerves were calm, but now her legs tensed below her, and not only from the pain. Ever since that night, since Arya slipped into her bed, Brienne couldn't help but bow her head when Arya approached, unable to meet her eye. 

After a moment, Brienne realised just how silent the room had become, even the soft drip of melting snow on the windowsill seemed drowned in a thick cloak of numbing silence. 

"My lady, I've meant to speak with you," Brienne said, bolder than she intended, "regarding my mission" the subject was strange to her but the words tumbled from her, each each syllable forming before she could react. 

Brienne drew her eyes from her feet to meet Arya's, seeing her nod quickly, her eyes studying Brienne curiously, Brienne took that as an answer. Brienne padded closer to the bed, resting her weight on the bedpost, her eyes still drawn to Arya's, unable to blink, let alone look away.

"It regards your mother and," Brienne said slowly, her voice heavy, her hand finding Oathkeepers hilt and caressed the supple leather of the grip, almost numbly

"Jaime Lannister." Brienne finished carefully, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on Arya's, watching every subtle twitch, Arya's face stayed calm, almost cool, though her eyes burned cold, the iron grey shimmering in the morning light. 

The paleness of Arya's glare sent ripples down Brienne's spine, "Should I continue my lady?"  
Brienne asked, Arya's gaze unreadable and almost unnerving. Arya nodded in response, not breaking her pale stare. 

With Arya's blessing easing her fear, Brienne recanted her tale, of Renly and Catalyn, of Harrenhal and the Brave Companions and Jaimie's maiming, even the bear pit and their return to Kings landing. Only when she spoke of Jaimes rescue from the bear did Arya react, the mention of how they threw her into the pit with only a tourney blade brought an audible response, with Arya nearly Howling, "Basterds!". 

The response sent Brienne aback, she had expected a response, but not something as visceral as the cry of "Basterds!", it seemed strange for Arya, she always seemed cold around others. 

After a moment, Brienne continued, telling Arya of Joffrey's death, of her oath and her quest. Her description of Joffrey's death seemed to bring some colour to Arya's face, as vicious as it may seem, Brienne understood why Arya would find the boys suffering pleasurable, after all, the boy slaughtered her family, even married her sister to the imp, if anyone deserved to die it was Joffrey, even Jaime had said so, even his own father thought he deserved his fate.

With a momentum growing inside her Brienne recited the last of her tale, of her quest and the oath that binds her. 

"Jaime told me of his vow to your lady mother, and reminded me of my own." Brienne felt the pride growing in her voice, every word forming as naturally as every swing of a sword in her hand. 

"I swore to protect Lady Catalyn and I failed, Jaime swore to return you and your sister, but with his service bound to the kingsguard and Sansa missing he could not follow his oath." 

Before Brienne could finish, Arya cut in, her eyes almost beaming "So you took his place," Arya murmured, her voice heavy "you took the oath he couldn't keep?" The question struck down any words Brienne may have held, only able to nod in answer. 

Finding her voice, Brienne announced proudly, "I swore to protect Lady Catalyn, now I must protect what little remains of her, you and Sansa are the only Starks that live, and neither shall perish while I draw breath!" Her eyes clouded with new formed tears.

What followed took Brienne aback. Arya let her sheet fall, the cotton slipping from her to pool at her feet, underneath she stood, naked as her nameday and before Brienne could react, avert her eyes or even flee, Arya burst forward, their lips meeting and Arya arms worming around Brienne's. 

As much as she tried, Brienne could not recoil, her lips binding her to the spot. Arya's lips caressed Brienne's, the oddly sweet taste brought back her memories, of the night before, the taste of even the sweetest wine paling in comparison to the subtle tartness of Arya's lips. 

After what felt like an eternity, Arya pulled herself away slowly, their lips making a wet smack as they left each other. With her lungs shrieking for air, Brienne took in a few ragged breathes, trying in vain to calm her rabidly beating heart, Brienne was sure Arya could feel the thumping in her chest, each beat feeling as though a blunted lance pushed up against her chest. 

Over numb lips, Brienne gasped, "My, my lady, I, I'm- " Arya cut her off with a single finger on her lips, like a septa would with a small child. 

"No, no more words, no more glances across the tables, no more modesty, only you." Arya whispered slowly in her ear, the words heavy and husky. Before Brienne could answer, Arya brought their lips together again. This time Brienne embraced her fully, after only a few moments, their lips dancing together, their lips almost dripping and Arya's tongue exploring Brienne's mouth with shy enthusiasm.

Even though both shirt and tunic, Brienne could feel Arya's nipples poking her, like two rigid beads, mere inches away. Brienne's hands hung neglected at her sides while Arya's explored Brienne, from cheek to cheek, every finger adventuring any inch within reach. 

Without thinking, Brienne drew up her hands, placing one softly on Arya's waist and the other on her shoulder. Within a split second, and a surprisingly painful fall, Brienne found herself staring deeply into Arya eyes, both of them splayed roughly on the lumpy bed, the heaped sheets digging stiffly into her side.

While Brienne fought her way free of the foggy haze that bound her, her limbs numb and distant, maybe from the arrows of pain that flared through her, maybe from something else, Arya flew from the bed, like a pale shadow above her, a few whips of blurred colour and jolt of pain from the sudden weight on her waist. 

Arya straddled her waist, her pale flesh glowing in the sunlight. "My la-" Brienne started but Arya stopped her with a finger again, a queer temptation to take Arya finger into her mouth flared within her, but Brienne beat it back. 

"There are no ladies here," Arya growled deeply, "My name is Arya Stark, I'm no lady," she continued, her hips starting to grind against the soft leather of Brienne's tunic, the steady gyration setting the tingling at Brienne's core ablaze. "And you... You are-" 

Before Arya could finish, a piercingly loud howl brought down the walls of the hazy trance that held her, a screech that whistled within her just as the pain had, except maybe more cruel. 

Almost in unison, both Brienne and Arya's eyes shot to the door. Brienne couldn't remember just how she got to the door, only leaning heavy on the wall beside it, her arms clenched tightly to her chest, her ribs screeching icy spears of agony.

Arya appeared at her side, her small hands gently smoothing over her back. "Brienne?" Arya asked gently, her voice so much softer than before, somehow the utterance of her own name in that soothing tone seemed to ease the howls of pain in her rib cage, not dulling it completely but enough for her to stand upright.

"Fine, I, I'm, I'm fine, my wounds are still quite sore, don't fret over it, we should go. Arya inclined her head in agreement, or at least that's what Brienne thought from what she could see, her vision was still hazed.

Outside, Brienne limped as quick as she could manage, using the bannister to keep herself upright. The stairs were a lot more painful than before, not from the pain in her legs,though that remained, the pain came only when her legs buckled beneath her, a flashing sight of the ground coming up to meet her, a painful embrace and as fleeting as morning dew. 

Brienne's vision betrayed her for what felt an eternity, a dazed image of deepest brown mud, the creak of old wood and the pungent stench of horse shit. Her eyes snapped to attention at the sight of steel, glimmering orange in candlelight. 

Before her stood a blood bedraggled Maester, sputtering wolf, a terrified and bloodied Podrick, open barrel of pitch and a lit candle. 

Through dizzy eyes Arya was growling commands, Needle held before her, a smear of crimson among the blade.  
All sound had fled Brienne, along with all but her sight, her head swam and her breathe grew laboured, each breathe more distant than the last. 

"Oh, Fuck!"

 

 

~o~ Podrick ~o~

 

With his ears ringing louder than any sound, Pod stirred, the smell of burning wood and a lung full of dust. 

Through hazy eyes Pod saw the faintest outline of life, a grey brown blob before him. While he stared, the blob began to move, rising from the heap of charred wood cloaking it. As Pods vision narrowed he realised who stood before him, a scorched black grey robe, mostly burnt away, a face half black half pink and dotted glimmering shards. Wylber.

Pods body moved as though it was in the hands of another, before he could regain control of himself the Maester was beneath him, Pods legs straddling the old mans chest. 

He couldn't quite remember where the rock came from, only that it was heavy and sharp and steaked in flame. "Monsters!" The old man howled beneath him, as fine a last word as any. 

With a strength as foreign to him as courage to a rat, pod brought down the rock, over and over and over until his hand bled into the fleshy pulp that remained. 

As the pain finally set in, Pod fell back, splaying flat on the crusted mud, dropping the blunted, blood stained shard of rock. A mixture of brain and bone caked his arms from finger to elbow and forks of crimson spattering his front, speckles lining his cheeks like beads of crimson glass...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope that was as titalating as I hope it was, I do so love to write steamier scenes, and the switch in perspective is always fun. As fierce as Arya is, almost the hound in her own right, she's not as big but much more bloodthirsty.
> 
> The ferocity of Arya is always fun to write, it's not often you get a character practically fueled by hate, and I've always a sneaking suspicion that Arya would be almost immortal of a battlefield, after all, in Zaeed messani's own words, rage is one hell of an anaesthetic. 
> 
> But a stark contrast, no pun intended, to the near psychotic nature of Arya, Brienne is a well oiled honour engine, with honesty the only fuel accepted. Brienne incredibly fun to write for, and in my eyes is on par with Arya, Podrick coming in a near second, mainly for his almost Mr Bean level of ineptitude.
> 
> Anyway, from the honest Brienne, wild Arya and quite reasonably traumatized Podrick I feel I've neglected our fourth wheel, argueably the man around which this story began, dear old Sandor Clegane. I've tried writhing for the Hound before, to varying success but I do promise to at lest give him a showing in the next act, so far I've left him as bedridden as Bran. 
> 
> I've gone on long enough already, I'll only say this last repose.  
> I've enjoyed this tale so far, and intend to see it through to the end, Jaime can take my hand for his own should I not. It may be a short while until the next update, but I will spend the time reviewing my previous work and correcting any wrongs I almost certainly made. 
> 
> I thank all of you for viewing my folly, please do leave comments, praise, criticism and ideas are all welcome.
> 
> Till next we meet. 
> 
> Valar Dohaeris


	10. The Price of Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Boy, what boy, "Pod?" 
> 
> "When I found the rest of you, you were all sprawled out in the mud, getting better sleep than I've had in weeks. Anyway, the boy weren't sleeping with the rest of you, I found him on top of that Maester, with most of the old fucks brain in his hand, and a shattered cobble in the other." "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I can only apologise for the wait. I've been working for some time now on refurbishing my earlier chapters, incidentally it turned out to be a much bigger challenge than I originally thought.
> 
> This chapter is the first in the second act, so it took me a while, (month) , to find the right pace. Also, given that this fic has no presupposed narrative, I'm just making it up as I go. 
> 
> I do sincerely apologise for the wait, I am trying to bring the older chapter up to date with my newer writing style, they will be posted in bulk when they are complete.
> 
> To all of those who cannot guess, this act will differ from the last in being more about the characters while they travel, locations are unlikely to be permanent. 
> 
> Anyway, I thank all of you for viewing my folly, please do leave comments. Rebuttals, criticism and ideas are all welcome.
> 
> Till next we meet. 
> 
> Valar Dohaeris

Chapter X: The Price of Mercy

 

 

~o~ Arya ~o~

 

Arya wasn't quite sure how the flame had found the pitch, only that the resulting ball of flame had given her the god of all headaches.

She had risen, or more aptly fallen from her sleep beside Stranger, a mouthful of cool dry mud stinging the back of her throat.

After she spat the contents of her mouth back into the earth and rolled weakly onto her back, Arya found the familiar cruel face of her Hound above her, the explosion must of knocked all sense from her, she was actually glad to see his ravaged face. 

"Best get up wolf girl, unless your bloody pack has learnt to build a litter, or hatch dragons." The Hound chuckled gruffly and vaulted from his saddle. Her wolves were smart, but the day Nymeria rides a dragon is the day Arya sprouts wings and flys at her side. As impossible as it was, the idea of soaring among the clouds was as tempting as the urge to dream, the vivid wolf dreams that found their way into her bed from time to time. But neither wings nor fur was half so tempting as Brienne, that brought Arya back from her dazed tangent.

"Brienne?" Arya blurted when the Hound scooped her up, his mail and plate so jagged they left scratches and bruises of their own. "Brienne?" The Hound answered with a twinge of wonder in his voice, "The Lannister bitch?"

Arya felt her fingers numbly twitch at the words, even through the thorny veil of pain, Arya recognised the signature twitch, the same that'd found her a heartbeat before she killed, every time without fail, even when that stable boy tried to take her, even then. Careful dog, you slipped my list but your name can grace the head of my prayer at a moments notice. 

"Where?" Arya asked slowly, worming her hand to where needle should have hung, funding only the stiff leather strap that once held her slim blade. The Hound took notice to her movements and chuckled again, this time more a chortle. "Sensitive about that one aren't you. her and her whelp are bound back there," the Hound said, gesturing his head back to the train of mounts behind him, Arya perched her head on one of his huge armoured shoulders and stared, through clouded eyes, at the chain of horses before her.

Bound atop a tall chestnut rounsey sat Brienne, bruised, burned and bloodied but not half as battered as her squire. Podrick was bound before his mistress, their hands bound tightly to the pommel and another rope cinched tightly about Pods hunched shoulders, and Brienne's chest.

They had ridden for a few hours on the frigid road, uttering hardly a word to one another. When the sun began to dip below the tree line and the sky turned a pinkish purple, almost blue, the Hound brought the train to its rest in a large cavernous undercroft, hollowed from a giant tree a few dozen yards dorm the roads edge, far enough to see the road from within but far too deep for a rider to see them, or their fire. Not that made any matter, Sandor Clegane was deadly at dune best of times, but now, with a injured leg and a lung full of ash, with the woman who confined him to a sick bed riding beside him, he was like to cut any rider worth mention from balls to brains. If they were lucky.

Arya stayed atop Stranger while the hound went to work, tying the horses to some thick old oak and it's roots, taking Brienne and Podrick down from their mount, to settle them beside the fire and withdrawing a bag of what looked to Arya to be salt pork from the old brown rounseys saddlebag.

It was only when the Hound came to help her to the camp did Arya notice his limp, it was subtle up close but seemed much more pronounced from afar, and as he half limped, half hobbled to Stranger's side, Arya couldn't help but laugh, even with his paw as broken as him, this dog was stubborn and intimidating as ever, if not a little shorter.

Huddled around the meagre fire, Arya began to feel her wound. Before, their screams had been numbed by either the blast or the sleep that followed, but now all the aches and pains wormed their way into her, flesh and bone alike, and her head throbbed.

Across the fire lay Brienne, huddled unconsciously around Pod. Her giantess seemed even larger perched around the timid boy, her arms were easily twice as thick as his standing, now, they looked more akin to great tree roots than the extremities of man.

Arya wanted nothing more than to crawl over and huddle beneath Brienne as well, hold her tight and wait out the pain. But fate over up to its heartless nature, the Hound was perched close, far enough from the fire to stop him flinching but even from a distance Arya could see just how uncomfortable he was.

Of all the men to fear fire, the Hound was the most unlikely, the gods must be as cruel as they are powerful to play a trick that vicious. The man would stare down a score of knights, and win with but a scratch on his plate, but the simplest kiss of flame sends his whimpering. Should we ever find Thoros again, I'll need to remember to take those flaming swords from his corpse, even the Hound will fall in line at the sight of flame.

"Wolf girls shouldn't stare at dogs, it makes them nervous, and we all know what hounds do when they're nervous." The Hound growled without a glance, as if he'd read her thoughts. 

"Nervous hounds are easy to kill, a calm wolf is the true danger!" Arya retorted quickly, the jab seeming to form on her tongue even before the Hound settled his. 

The Hound didn't answer, only grunted and turned back to the darkness, sullen as ever. Arya did the same for a time, staring blankly into the inky blackness of night, wishing sleep would take her. 

Sleep never came, only the pale pain of consciousness, seemingly unending. "What happened?" Arya asked finally, when the pain and silence finally broke her will for sleep. The Hound was quick to answer, "One of you fools somehow blew up the stables, with you in it." 

Arya's memory was sketchy at best about the events after her encounter with Brienne. There were faint memories of the Maester, a lot of blood. Whose?, Arya couldn't recall and an open barrel of pitch taller than her, and a slim tallow candle. 

"I heard the crash you fools made and came down to find the source, when it found what was left of the stables you lot were sprawled out in the mud, well, all except the boy."

Boy, what boy, "Pod?" 

The Hounds eyes lit up a little at the sound, "Aye, the Lannister boy. If I were you I'd keep an eye on that one, he's not as craven as he looks." Arya shifted her eyebrows, confused. The Hound caught her meaning and continued, "Well, have you noticed that fat Maester ain't with us?" Arya nodded in answer, her throat was far too dry to speak, and her lips were sealed with curiosity. 

"When I found the rest of you, you were all sprawled out in the mud, getting better sleep than I've had in weeks. Anyway, the boy weren't sleeping with the rest of you, I found him on top of that Maester, with most of the old fucks brain in his hand, and a shattered cobble in the other." 

Arya shot her gaze to Pod, still curled up warmly in her spot. Him, no, the boy can barely swing a sword. Arya thought quickly, every memory she had of Pod racing through her mind. But, he did kill that raider who tried to take me, nearly cut him in half too. 

The fond memory of the fat mans warm blood trickling onto her arse gave Arya goose prickles. Most women would hate an attempted rape, but Arya revelled in the memory, it was the first time she held Oathkeeper, and the last for the rapist scum it's sinisterly beautiful blade bit through. 

The image of Pod beating the old mans wrinkled head in sent a refreshing chill up Arya's spine, only a shame she hadn't got the chance to do the deed herself. 

"The boy was as mad as my brother, mayhaps worse, and every time he split the old cunts skull he chanted the big bitches name." The Hound continued before she could answer. The Hounds tone for Brienne brought that twitch again, only this time Arya let her tongue dance instead of her missing steel.

"Call her that again and I might do the same!", Arya tone was cool as fresh forged iron and easily as sharp. 

The Hound tensed subtly and let out a gruff scoff, staring down at her with a face as puzzled as it was amused. "Bloody hell!, I've not heard that tone since I dragged you from the twins, d'ya fancy the great cow or something wolf girl?!" He grumbled back.

Arya shot up her coldest scowl, a single eyebrow up stretched. He may only have half a face but even an old blind chicken could read hers, she hoped.

The Hound leant back a bit, his face lit up with surprise, even more than with her threat. As twisted as half his face was, the other was could hold more shapes than a bowl of treacle, fruitcake included. He let out a surprised sigh and rolled his beady eyes, a mockery of a smile on his uncharacteristically red lips.

"What?" Arya snapped when he began to chuckle. This was as insufferable as he had been when they first met, if not substantially uglier.

The Hound raised his gloved hand before his face, as if to swat away an arrow. "I knew there was something about you other than your tongue, though I bet the great cow will appreciate it." He whistled through heaving fits of laughter, deep and throaty. 

Arya had had enough of the dog, she lurched forward painfully and planted her boot into the matted bandages on the Hounds thick thigh. He shrieked loudly but kept laughing regardless. His growls of laughter sent fresh fury to Arya's heart, she lurched forward again and lifted her boot again, this time however the Hound expected her, as her foot reached her waist the Hound shot towards her. Arya plunged down her heel but the blow was struck, a short, sharp dig in her skinny thigh. The blow sent Arya sprawling and the pain set her tongue waggling.

"Cunt!" Arya howled as she met the dank floor, unceremonious as it was the curse always seemed to sooth her pain. Rolling back and forth with both hands clasped tightly on the spot of impact, Arya wished she still had Needle, the dog would be down another ear if she had. 

The Hound was quick to reply, "best crawl in beside your big bitch wolf girl, it's the only cunt you'll find for a while."

This time Arya let her twitch take control, her arm shot to her boot, drawing the rusted dirk she kept just in case, the Hound slapped her steel aside with as little effort as he would a fly, and jabbed a finger to her face as incredulous as ever.

"No need to draw steel wolf girl, you can fuck whatever you please, you'll get no protest from me," the Hound growled in the most matter of factly tone Arya had ever heard him take. The two stared deep into each other's eyes for a moment before Arya rolled away, giving the dog a great view of her back. "But that bitch broke my leg, don't expect me to hold my tongue!"

The Hounds words were as shrouded as his face, though it may have been Arya, merely glancing at Brienne and Pod huddled together seemed to drag Arya deeper into the sleepy haze that already brimmed her eyes.

Soon enough the inevitable darkness took her, Arya should have laid down beforehand, instead she slapped dully to the floor as the invasive rest took her in toe. Although more or less peaceful, Arya's dreams were riddled with flickering images from the stables, mixed in with the universally disturbing image of Pod beating Wylber's shrivelled head to a fleshy pulp. The brutality of the act didn't irk her too much, in fact it seemed rather appropriate, given the pious old sots nature, it was pretty apt for the Maester to get his stone solid stubborn head shattered like a chestnut.

Arya hadn't had a proper dream since Harrenhal, apart from the wolf dreams, Arya always knew she dreamt, and given the power of dreams proceeded to act out a myriad of thoughts and questions while she slept. Everything from what would happen if she slit the Hounds throat or lit him ablaze while he slept, how it would feel to gut Joffrey, or even better, throttle him with the golden locks of his royal mothers shrivelled, disembodied head.

Not all Arya's dreams were as gruesome, some were more sentimental, the sounds and smells or home, the feeling of Winterfell under her feet, even the look on Ser Rodrik's face when she dumped a pail of water on Him from a tower.

But the most prevalent thoughts that plagued her were not only of home, but of her lost family. Brans constant climbing, fathers incessant lectures on honour, her mothers stubborn face when she fled the Septas, Robb, constantly emulating her father, the little auburn Ned, as Mikken put it and Jon Snow.

Most dreams of home focused on Jon for a while now, with all the rest dead or missing Arya had only one sibling left, bastard or not Jon Snow was as much a brother as Bran, Robb or Rickon, maybe even more. 

But even the warmth of home fled Arya lately, only one person graced her dreams, and now was no exception. Brienne's face, scent and touch plastered her thoughts. Arya's mind was not the only thing that lit up when Brienne slid in behind her eyes, her womanhood tingled at the thought of Brienne's eyes, and throbbed at the memory of her lips, wet, swollen and pressed passionately to her own, much like some other thoughts she had on occasion.

Arya woke stiff and cold the next day, the sun why high in the noon sky and the land outside the hollows maw was spotted with flowing lagoons of pale yellow light. 

Lain arrow straight and twice as stiff, Arya felt half as cold as the ground below her. The meagre fire had flittered out while she slept and winter chill had taken its place. Arya let out a creak of pain as she turned, flopping weakly to her other side. Across from her lay Brienne, still as bloodied, blackened and beautiful, but Pod was no longer clutched among her arms.

Arya was tempted to crawl across the stiff dirt to snuggle between her giants arms but a sharp yelp tore her eyes away. 

With another flop, Arya fell flat to her back, luckily for her the ground was not so jagged as she thought. Before she could rise Arya's eyes were smothered in the warm grey she knew better than her own hands. Nymeria bobbed on her chest for a few moments then curled beside her, her wet nose poking at her cheek.

"Took you long enough." Arya muttered with a dry, coarse throat. Arya had wondered if Nymeria had survived the events at the inn, though she couldn't know until now. 

Pushing away Nymeria's snout with a flame blackened hand, Arya struggled to her feet. Her legs rattled beneath her and her head swam but Arya stood nonetheless, leaning slightly on the wall of the hollow.

Outside the undercroft the daylight shone snow white and seemed to glitter, Arya limped through the flickering veil into the warm noon glimmer.

Outside, dark forest edge was spotted with rays of light that seemed to pulse before her. A few yards from the hollows mouth sat the looming figure of the Hound, perched half slumped on what Arya assumed was the stump the hollow had once stood tall on, the dark brown wood smooth and caked in vibrant green moss.

Arya stumbled closer, her footsteps muffled by the damp mossy ground, the closer she crept, the clearer his words became.

"You did what with my sword?!" The Hound shot, his voice as laced with surprise as it was smothered in anger. "I, I, I put it through a fat man," a small voice returned, "he was trying to rape Lady Arya, he, he had her over a table so, so I,I-" the voice trailed off, only one person in the seven kingdoms could have such a voice.

"Aye?" The Hound pushed, after a moment of silence. The voices owner came into view and Arya stopped in her tracks. "Put the blade through his fucking head!" Pod growled, his eyes flaring with anger, but his face smooth as still water, Syrio would be proud. 

The Hound leaned back slightly at the tone of the boys tale, even from behind Arya could feel his heavy eyebrow pressing into his hairline. 

"Bloody hell," The Hound grumbled, "I'll make sure not to do any raping with you in earshot, it wouldn't do for the wretched Hound to get stuck by a boy half his size, eh!" He laughed, slapping a heavy hand to Pods slumped shoulder.

Pod grinned thinly and chuckled, "half as big but twice as pretty."

The Hound spat a mouthful of water across the crisp leaves before them and erupted back into laughter. Of all the people to befriend the Hound, Podrick Payne, the gods aren't crual after all, they're mad instead.

When Arya's feet rustled on a clump of dead golden leaves the pair wheeled about, the Hound tumbling onto his back when his arse slipped the stump and Pod drew his notched dirk, the same he stuck the inn keeps wife with, and flung it, end over end at Arya. 

"My lady!" Pod exclaimed when the savage blade struck the hollow, no more than an inch from Arya's head.

Arya's muscles tensed as the steel whistled past her. "Seven hells!" She yelped as she jerked aside, but the blade had already sunk deep into the wood at her side. The boy shot forward and kneeled at her feet, sputtering apologies. Half a madman, half a craven. 

Arya put her hand to Pods fleshy chin and pulled him back to his feet, "nice shot, but you missed my head, if your going to throw daggers at me, best hit the mark" Arya scolded, not nearly as angry as she should have been. 

"The wolf girl lives, you'd best get that pack of yours under control, their scaring the shit out of the horses!" The Hounds grumbled in his usual raspy tone as he shrugged himself back onto the stump. 

Arya ignored him and patted Pod on the shoulder, "keep an eye on him." She whispered to the sullen boy and slunk away. Beside the gaping maw to the tree stood the herd of horse the Hound had taken from the inn, two brown palfreys, a small grey garron, three tall coursers, a rounsey of a dozen colours, a half dead donkey and Stranger. Arya padded to the donkey's side and yanked a bedroll roughly from its back. 

Inside the hollow, Nymeria lay curled with Yoren at Brienne's feet. Arya felt all the pain of battle and betrayal fade away into the shadow of the hollow, leaving her plain and painless.

At her feet Brienne lay soft as satin, if a little scorched. Brienne's hands and arms were pitch blackened and dusted in ash and splinters. A blood stained bandage patched her cheek, beads of congealed blood trickling from it, Arya cared not, she leaned low as she could without pain and fell the rest. Once on the chilly ground Arya slid forward, worming herself between Brienne's arms, brought the furs over them and pressed her nose into the big woman's neck.

Brienne stirred at her touch, squirming in her arms. "Shh," Arya soothed, moving her hands along Brienne's side, brushing ash from leather. The Hound had removed Brienne's armour while they slept, stacking it roughly beside her head. 

Arya smiled wide when the brilliant blue of Brienne's eyes peeked from beneath her bruised eyelids. Arms when her plump lips spread to speak, Arya took them in her own. Their kiss was long and deep, but soft and awkward. When Arya drew away, Brienne blushed and turned her eyes away. 

The pair lay silently for a while after that, their bodies warming the stiff earth that served as a bed. "My- Arya?" Brienne stuttered eventually, stumbling over her stubborn courtesy. Even in my arms she cannot forget her manners.¥

"Yes, my sweet?" Arya muttered back, her words strange on her tongue, sweetness was as foreign to Arya Stark as hate was to a chicken.

"What happened?", Brienne stroked her hand along Arya's back under the furs, slowly and just light enough to make her tense tickelishly. 

Arya was careful in her answer. "From what I can remember that bloody Maester blew up the inn with pitch, and himself with it," Arya was careful not to mention Wylber's true fate, it would ruin the moment to tell Brienne of how her craven squire caved the old mans head in with a cobble, even a woman as stoic as Brienne would be disturbed at that.

Arya continued, "The blast put me out but the Hound saved us from the blaze, ransacked the inn and rode away, I woke on horseback not long ago, but I've got no clue where we lay, vale, riverlands even dorne for all I care."

Brienne stared deep into Arya's eyes a moment and then snuggled back to her side, the scratchy bandage tickling Arya's ear. Arya wondered what had done her face the blow, splinter, steel, flame, all were as likely as the last and all were of little concern to Arya as gold to a god, the gods could take Brienne's ears and hair, eyes or limbs, they could lash her with a scourge of flame and Arya would take her warrior women, no matter how many scars she bore.

Beneath the furs Arya began to feel that tingling again, deep between her legs, whispering promises in a language no tongue could grasp, guttural and booming. Heat began to expand through her, stretching from the tips of her frigid toes to the shaggy mop atop her brow, all coalescing at her core, that secret place only she could please.

With a huff and a shrug Arya beat back the throbbing, the urge wriggling back to its home with a biting sting. As the heat dissipated the aching returned, in her legs, her back and especially her right shoulder. Under her tunic, Arya's flesh glowed purple and crimson, with flecks of blue and yellow betwixt and between.

With searing taking hold in her flesh, blaring from a dozen wounds, Arya's muscles flexed and twitched, trying desperately to find a spot to ease the pain, to the point Arya thought she may pass out. Instead she buried her face, twitching lips and all into the stern, soft flesh of Brienne's neck, her cheek cupping perfectly into the crook where her neck met her broad shoulders. Brienne seemed to purr as Arya nuzzled, her skin pulsing with goose prickles, her smell filling Arya's nose, sweet and bitter in equal measure, sweat and pitch, lust and grief. 

 

 

~o~ Brienne ~o~

 

Beneath her furs, Brienne was both contented and twisted, her limbs ached and her back felt as though an anvil had fallen on it, but all the lances and daggers the pain could muster melted away before the burning heat cradled around her shoulders, even the arrows piercing her in volleys from her cheek was dulled, if not completely defeated. 

But for all her pain Brienne felt almost serene, warm and calm, with not a single ache penetrating the cloak of pleasure that held them, their lightning lined shafts shattering as they met her.

Nestled in her arms, Arya was as rough as she was warm, with her soft skin pressed close to Brienne's own, and her disheveled hair tickling Brienne's nose gently as she slept, like the she wolf she no doubt was.

"Even garbed in blood and ash, she's still a northman, more snow than woman, as likely to kiss your hand as to bite away your pinky." Brienne whispered to herself with a wry smile, then lowered her head to peck a short kiss on Arya's dimply ear. The girl giggled sleepily and nuzzled deeper into Brienne's chest, the laces of her tunic strained at the pressure.

Contented with Arya in her arms, Brienne let her mind wander, settling on the stinging realisation she had ignored until then, Beaten once by a dog, and again by a Maester, I'm going soft. Brienne thought, moving her thumb in slow circles behind Arya's ears.

The realisation cut deep in Brienne's ego, maybe not the Hound, he was of a height with her and easily a match for strength, but the Maester must easily of been in his sixties, if not older, and even he managed to put her back in the broken bed, though the damp mossy earth below her now was only half as uncomfortable as the lumpy straw she called home for gods know how long. But even that ungodly rack would feel soft as goose down if Arya shared the sheets.

Brienne slipped back into sleep after that, the steady rhythm of Arya's breathing setting the war drums of sleeps immortal army into action, slow, steady and certain, as unavoidable as dawn or dusk.

When Brienne woke, Arya had wriggled lower down her length, her cheeks pressing sweatily between the meagre peaks of her bosom, the smooth leather glistening in pale pink light. 

Brienne was not averse to the idea of Arya at that level, but the leather of her jerkin was caked in a thick crust of ash and soot, to the point her collar held a scent not unlike smoked venison. But ash and smoke are never good for the lungs, any knight who's been in a hold during a siege, with the rafters ablaze and tapestries flashing golden light can tell you that. 

Brienne shifted painfully to shuffle Arya back up, snuggling her back into the crook of her shoulder, the short, warm breaths tickling her skin.

 

The hollow was layered within and without with a thick cloak of deep green moss, like a bears shaggy hide, though slightly less ferocious. Brienne needed no kingslaying cripple to drag her from this bear, she was fine just where she was. In fact if Jaime had walked in then, out of the blue, Brienne would likely take off his other hand for the bad luck that seemed to follow him. First she was captive to rapers at Harrenhal, and now she's been half incinerated by a man who resembled a plucked goose.

The serenity of the moment however was beaten, mercilessly to a misshapen pulp by the entrance of her beloved Hound, scowl and all. Not a Kingslayer but Brienne was sure he wouldn't balk at the suggestion. Even on Tarth the Hounds well known lust for his monstrous brothers blood was common knowledge. Everyone from lord to stable boy knew of Sandor's lust for the well avoided title of kinslayer, Brienne was sure if the Mountain was crowned, it would do nothing to stop the mad dogs blade.

"Can't say I've ever seen a cow suckling a wolf. Guess those mushrooms really do work." Sandor muttered, half a growl. The mocking tone to his raspy tongue seemed far too cutting to be well meant.

Brienne was about to retort when Arya jerked her head up to growl, "careful dog, this cow had you screeching in a sick bed, with a leg like a winter ham!" The jape was as sharp as Oathkeeper, though it had no effect.

"Try again wolf girl, I spent the best part of a decade sworn to that sadistic little shit Joffrey, even that halfwit came up with better." 

The Hound was a strange man, a burned behemoth, with no conscience and a vicious sword arm.

"It's a shame you left. I'd have liked to see you try to stop me gutting him!" Arya shot back, her tongue as venomous as any Dornish viper.

"It is!, but if you'd shown up I'd let you go ahead, it took gallons of wine and inhuman restraint to stop myself putting the whiny little bastard in two myself, ha! I'd give you the sword too, the look on that boys face when his guts hit his toes would be worth much more than some gold, or a poxy oath."

Sandor's lips curled into a dry smile, unseemly on one side and grotesque on the other. Brienne was hardly the right person to judge another based on beauty, but even Brienne the Blue could tell Sandor Clegane was hardly a windswept, armour clad hero with a heart of gold and a Valyrian blade at his side.

He was definitely armour clad, and if he'd beat her atop that cliff, he'd have the Valyrian blade but Sandor was no hero, and his heart was as solid as iron, anyone who knew his tale knew that.

Arya shrugged and rolled back to her chest, a hand slipping down onto Brienne's thigh. "I know I'm interrupting something here but we need a word." Sandor spoke, his tone lighter than before but still as gruff.

"What with your mad old aunt being scraped off the side of a rock, we need a destination. Any ideas?, And if either of you says Kings Landing I'll break you hand."

The threat rang hollow through Brienne, she was never going to answer Kings Landing but if Sandor thought he could hurt Arya he really was as mad as the singers told. "Riverrun!" Arya blurted into her chest, each syllable echoing through Brienne's rib cage like a clap of thunder.

"Not a chance, the Lannisters would feed me to the crabs, and you if your lucky. But more likely they'll fuck you bloody and empty your head with a maul." The Hound spat back, with a flicker of what sounded like fear in his voice, though Brienne held her tongue.

"Fine!, how about greywater?" Arya asked after a moment, her words nervous.

The Hound scoffed and spat to his side, his face twisting back into his grotesque smile. "What would a wolf want with a frog?" 

Arya was quick to answer, her lips slapping together even before Sandor had finished speaking. "My father was a friend of they're lord, they fought together, Howard?, Howell?, Halard?" Arya stumbled with the name, Brienne slipped in quickly, "Howland?"

"Aye, Howland, Howland Reed." Arya muttered in a growing tone. A genuine sound of delight at the sound of the name, like some old friend not seem in many a year, though Brienne guessed Arya had likely never met the man.

"Fuck the bog devils!, I've got a better place." The Hound barked suddenly, a look of doubt glinting in his eyes. Arya immediately rolled to her knees, leaving a strange space that made Brienne feel almost naked.

"Well do enlighten us, oh high Hound!" Arya yelped back, the anger clear in her face.

"I've been talking to that hopeless boy your bloody cow brought along. He told me Gregor was going to fight the Red Viper, if that's true, he is almost definitely dead. Leaving Cleganes Keep mine for the taking." The Hound was almost frothing at the mention of his brother, his eyes narrowing at his name. 

The pair descended into madness then, both screeching names and curses. Brienne was far too tired and pained to put up with the bickering going on over her head. So, with a tone far more cutting than she intended, Brienne chipped in, "Shut it!" 

The hollow fell silent at that, both dog and wolf lowered their gaze, a puzzled look on Sandor's face and a shocked one on Arya's. "What about Tarth?, obscure, secluded and safe. The Lannisters are hardly going to scour Shipbreaker bay for four people they think dead. My father is an honourable man, he would never sell us to the crown."

The hollow stayed silent for a long time, both Arya and Sandor stared down with the same look they bore before, but now Brienne could see they're minds at work, behind they're eyes.

Oh, lovely, I've broken my companions. Brienne thought to herself when the silence began to stale. 

 

With the silence beginning to press on Brienne's chest, Arya spoke at last, in a voice barely more than a whisper, hoarse and dry. "Agreed, agreed?" She said, turning her eyes to find Sandor's.

"Agreed" the Hound grumbled, as though unsure if he was being drawn into a trap. "Agreed!" Brienne finished for him.

With that the Hound withdrew, his face tensed tight. Arya took the opportunity to spiral back down into Brienne's arms and took her lips in her own with a wet smack. They lay there for a while, they're lips exploring each other, lips to ears to neck. Arya even slipped a hand down to cup Brienne's left buttock, Brienne didn't struggle.

With heat building inside her Brienne drew away, her lips slapping as they left Arya's neck. "We'd best saddle up my lady, my father will be happy to meet you, best not keep him waiting." Brienne whispered softly with a shy grin, Arya returned with a cheeky flex of her cheek.

The sheer cheek of her set Brienne ablaze, she reminded her so much of herself. Arya raised a finger to Brienne's nose then, only to pat the end lightly with a wink. Oh, if I only had the time!

With that Arya slipped from under her, the furs flapping flatly as she slid gracefully from their embrace. Brienne slumped down then, staring up into the moss and mushrooms that lined the hollows top.

Brienne the Beauty and Arya Stark, father really will be proud...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well wasn't that lovely, lesbian love in a low borne log. Yep it's a tongue twister, and yes I know its cheesy.
> 
> As mentioned before, Act II will focus more on traval, and now we have a destination the story can pick up.
> 
> Also, during my writing hibernation period I was told by a friend that I've been writing Arya with a bit of a apathetic, borderline sociopathic outlook. Though I refute the apathy claim I do notice that my Arya does seem to give off some of those traits.
> 
> This is semi intentional. After recently rereading the books I notice a profound downward spiral in Arya's personality, in AGOT she is just the mischievous tomboy daughter of Ned, but by ADWD she has become a cold blooded, if not skilled, killer. 
> 
> The truest testament I can bring is the outright murder of gerrion, after all she slit his throat and stole his boots. I truly do believe that if Arya survives to ADOS she will be as cold as Roose Bolten, though I doubt she will ever be complexly emotionless. 
> 
> So, with this being a what if fic, and the time frame for her decent is correct, I shall be denoting the evolution of Arya in my tale. So to all those people out there who enjoy seeing Arya doing some pretty sadistic stuff, you are in luck.
> 
> Anyway enough of my rambling, I hope you enjoyed my newest attempt, please do leave your thoughts, I am always happy to see what others thick of my little folly. 
> 
> Until next time, Nos da


	11. Blind Dogs Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you noticed were heading west? Tarth is east, we should find the Kingsroad." She spoke, not unkindly but with a slightly more cutting tone than she anticipated. Sandor returned with an incredulous look, his remaining eyebrow lifted almost to his hairline.
> 
> "Mayhaps you've not noticed girl, the Kingsroad takes us past Kings Landing and the Lannisters. Now, your self righteous arse might be welcome but I'm not. And that wolf you've taken a liking to is even less welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time in the making it may be, but it's here now. I've been very happy to see that so many people have seen and enjoyed my little folly. 
> 
> This chapter took longer than most due to problems I've encountered while attempting to update my previous chapters. Even for someone with an eidetic memory, the miniscule scruples of the land of Westeros are hard to recall.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy my latest attempt at something vaguely akin to a plot. Please feel free to leave any thoughts you may have. Don't worry about offense, I did away with that a long time ago.

Chapter XI

 

~o~ Brienne ~o~

 

The Riverroad is not the most scenic path in Westeros, as Brienne found out to her immense boredom about an hour into their trek. The old mud was cracked and crumbling, the elaborately random cracks and crevasses forming patterns akin to a fresh honeycomb. 

Forlorn memories of Tarth found Brienne there, all fresh grass and the salty sea breeze. Brienne let herself linger there a while, savouring the smells of home and knowing that soon enough she would taste them again, not veiled memories, so fleeting in her dreams but the true taste of home. Soon she would feel the smooth worn flagstone under her feet, all odd and unlevelled, just as her father liked them. 

Lord Selwyn Tarth was an eccentric man, all strange likes and dislikes. His love of carved willow spoons and disheveled flagstones were the talk of the island. Though that was not particularly special, news travals fast to those who wish to listen and Tarth could earn the title "Gossiping isle" if it wished. Brienne made a point then to swear to herself she would never mention the name, given her fathers nature he would likely have the name carved into the cliffs alongside Evenfall.

As strange and somewhat mad as he may seem, Lord Selwyn was always an honourable man, just and honest, and as blunt as they come. He was not a man to break oaths gladly, he revelled in memorising every oath he ever took, down to the wording and the tone of voice.

When Brienne was young her father had taught her honour, without the honey tainted word of most southern lords. He told her the facts bluntly and honestly.

"Brienne, one day, maybe not long from now, you are going to swear an oath. It is my duty to instruct you in the business of honour." She remembered him saying, his hair a blur of purple and pale yellow. 

"Honour is as simple as walking. And like walking it shapes who we are, a man of low honour could live to a hundred and die on a throne of gold. But the weight of his conscious would push him further down, even on his deathbed the weight of past misdeeds weighs heavy on the heart." 

His voice was always so subtle, not quiet but soft. His words formed effortlessly on his tongue and he never stumbled. 

Her fathers next words had long faded in Brienne's memory, but she distinctly remembered a haunting ripple of icy pride creep up her back, carving outspread wings into her shoulders.

Brienne shook her head frustratedly then, the ramblings of her father were not of concern, soon she could marinade in his speech. For now the point of concern was getting there. Tarth sat steadfast at the mouth of Shipbreaker bay, along the east of Westeros. And if her senses didn't deceive her, and the sun had not switched rotation while she slept, they were certanly heading west.

With her mind finally kicked into action, Brienne spurred the huge black courser forward, trotting up beside The Hound with Arya's head bobbing at each step. 

"What you want?" Sandor snapped as Brienne slid in beside him, his twisted face hidden behind a thin veil of knotted black hair. Brienne gritted her teeth and let the tone pass her by.

"Have you noticed were heading west? Tarth is east, we should find the Kingsroad." She spoke, not unkindly but with a slightly more cutting tone than she anticipated. Sandor returned with an incredulous look, his remaining eyebrow lifted almost to his hairline.

"Mayhaps you've not noticed girl, the Kingsroad takes us past Kings Landing and the Lannisters. Now, your self righteous arse might be welcome but I'm not. And that wolf you've taken a liking to is even less welcome. The queen isn't in the habit of lopping off lords heads, then welcoming in his daughters, are you so keen to see her dead? make no mistake Cersei will string her up like a bauble." His tone was sharp and his voice raspy, just as it had been on the clifftop. Some things never change.

Brienne shot back a vicious look, her jaw clenched and brow furrowed. Something akin to a scowl. "Shouldn't you be hopping off to the queen to give her up? it's not like you care if they have her, or any of-" 

Sandor cut Brienne off abruptly with a quick twist of his reins, bringing his mount close alongside her own. His arm shot up to hers and twisted it tightly, making Oathkeepers half drawn hilt slip from her to thump back into its scabbard.

"One more word and I'll put out those eyes, leave it for the crows!" He threatened, slipping a long dagger from his belt to poise a few inches from Brienne's throat. "I've been watching over that girl since long before you arrived! Mention that again I might just sell you to the next brothel we find. I'm sure there's a few men out there who'd fancy fucking a giant, you'd make quite some coin too, put you next to the most pox ridden whore in Westeros and she'll look like a fucking goddess."

His words shocked Brienne more than his steel, though that did nothing to soften the impact. For once his words sounded sincere, instead of the grumbles and grunts she'd gotten before, excluding the numerous curses he'd thrown her way during they're fight.

Brienne's words betrayed her then, each word that formed in her mind seemed to melt away while she struggled to process the Hounds words. With his speech done and her mind racing, Sandor loosed his grip on Brienne's cramping wrist and slid his horse away again. Leaving Brienne more than a little shocked and confused.

Arya stirred then, lifted her head and glanced about with a surprisingly dazed look on her face.

"Where are we?" Arya asked sleepily, snuggling back into her spot in Brienne's chest. "On our way, the Riverroad is a long one, it'll be mud and grey skies for a fair few leagues yet." Brienne answered in a faint voice, planting a light kiss on Arya's head. 

Arya shivered slightly and burrowed deeper. Brienne was likely to start melting if the ball of heat sat before her burrowed any further.

The road went on for what felt an eternity, the coursers hooves slipping and sucking through the thick hide of muck that coated the Riverroad. The Hound kept a decent distance from the others, maybe to slip away or mayhaps to get away from Brienne. 

Brienne had fought many men, in the training yard on Tarth, in Renly's camp and on the road to King Landing with Jaime. Masters at arms, jealousy or disgruntled soldiers and knights, bandits, rapers and even Jaime himself. And every person, man, woman and child alike knows how proud men get when their pride is put into question. Sandor was a big man with an equally big ego, so when Brienne broke it, along with his leg she had likely started some deep set hatred into motion.

Regardless of his intentions, Sandor stayed a few horse lengths ahead at all times. On the other end however, Podrick had lagged behind, half sat, half slumped atop his long suffering palfrey. His head was bowed low and his face, from what Brienne could see was dark and sullen. 

The road went ever on from there, getting only more decrepit and downtrodden. As the shrouded sun slunk below the horizon, sending piercing rays of peach and crimson light cascading under the musk coloured clouds. Brienne had always loved sunsets, especially along the sea. When the sun dipped down below the watery horizon, it's crescent would reflect in the deep blue, shining bold and new for only a fleeting moment.

With the sky turning a plump violet, coalescing slowly with Indigo and inky black. They spyed a small tumbledown hut, or the remains of one. Together, Brienne and Sandor halted the train, making sure to remain far enough from the hut as to remain in shadow.

"What you think? The bandits round here are known for traps and those brotherhood whoresons will be wanting my head." 

Almost a shame not to grant them. "We could set up in the brush, but the others could use the shelter. These parts are hardly know for the Dornish sun." Brienne spoke lowly. Sandor kept his eyes set firmly on the ramshackle hut, not even turning to meet her eye as he spoke.

"Aye, wake up the little wolf. Her and the boy can stay here, we'll check the ruin." His voice was deep and low. With a shift and a shove Brienne roused Arya. The two stared idly at each other for a moment before Brienne hopped from the saddle. "Keep watch on Pod, we'll be back soon." Brienne left quickly, so as to stop any protests Arya may muster. Though luckily for Brienne she seemed too confused by the rude awakening to understand, let alone retort.

The mud was thicker along the road so Brienne kept to the borders, among the high, dew strewn grass and occasional shrub. Luckily for her Brienne had chosen a different path to the Hound. His manner was gruff enough on horseback, she hardly needed another enemy.

He may be injured and off balance but Sandor Clegane was a big man, if he chose to turn his steel on Brienne she would be hard pressed to combat him, especially on ground like this. One slip and they were both like to drown.

Brienne's suspicions only grew as she neared the hut, Brienne along the south side and Sandor to the north. One move and the crows will have dog tonight; the thought was unsavourily bitter.

As the hut steadily grew larger, Brienne grasped Oathkeepers hilt and drew it an inch or two free of its scabbard. Sandor did the same with his greatsword opposite her. The hut was decrepit and crumbling. It's four walls were made of unmortered stone and the roofing that could mayhaps have been thatch was rotted and pocked with holes, one corner missing completely where a wall had buckled.

Perfect spot for an ambush; Brienne thought quickly as she popped through the half caved doorway, ducking low to pass under the diminutive beam. Inside, the hut was damp and airy, with a moss caked floor of indistinguishable origin and a long abandoned fire pit. 

The Hound slipped in just after Brienne, thwacking his brow loudly on the beam. Brienne couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"Shut it girl, it's not you who couldn't see the damned thing." Sandor growled painfully, clutching his forehead. It's not me who got a concussion from an old slab of wood; " Do keep your eyes open, I was told dogs had good sight." 

Brienne wasn't sure which was more cutting, the beam or her words. Either way the Hound growled again and shoved past her, making Brienne stumble. "What you reckon, safe?" He asked, his back turned.

"Mayhaps, but we'll need someone to stand watch." Brienne was unsure but they did need shelter and moss is a damn sight more easy on the back that packed earth or hedge leaves.

"Fine, but no fires. I'd rather not wake up horseless with some bandit stealing my boots." 

A fair point, fire would make them easier to find and one bandit can do a lot of damage in shadow. 

Brienne nodded agreement and strode back into the cool evening air. Outside, Arya and Pod sat half slumped in their saddles. Brienne's eyes were growing heavy too and her legs were stiff. 

Brienne gestured for them to approach and Arya set her mount forward, Pod following with the train a few beats later.

The ground was damp and the air cold but under her furs everything felt soft, the moss softened and the heat of Arya's hand on her thigh made Brienne flush. 

A pace or two away Pod was sat with his back on the wall and quilted layers of thin, ragged blankets draped across his back. The boy was still dark and seemed to brood more than eat.  
Sandor was stood, stiff and stern at the cottages entrance. 

The world was dark in Brienne's eyes, Pod and Sandor only silhouettes. Even Arya was obscured by darkness, or maybe it was the furs, Brienne's heavy eyes kept her from checking. The group stayed there for a long while in sullen silence with only the odd caw of raven or hoot of owl to entertain them. Despite the silence Brienne was content beneath her furs. Pod however was sat still as death, his gaze fixed on the empty fire pit. In the dark Brienne wasn't even sure if his eyes were still open, or if sleep had claimed him while he sat. The same sleep claimed her only moments later, her eyes sealing shut on her. 

In the dark and damp Brienne stared about, making out the shapes of Pod, pit and pasty moonlight. But for all she peered Brienne could not find the Hound. With no idea how long she had slept, and her eyes sticky with sleep Brienne slid slowly from the furs. Arya roused as Brienne stood, placing a hand on her calf and yawning loudly. Brienne put a finger to her lips and shushed lightly, "Sleep, I'm taking watch." 

Arya yawned again and rolled over, curling into the furs. "Hurry back, I'm cold." She said sleepily. Brienne shushed again and slid away, stepping lightly over the fire pit and Pods saddlebag. Outside the air was fresh and the moon high, the muddy road bathed in milky light. 

Brienne let the cool air flow over her, her skin prickling under its wispy touch. "Your wolf reject you?" Spoke a raspy voice Brienne knew well. Under a tree beside the hut sat the shadow of just the man she sought to see. "I've come to talk." Brienne answered. The Hound chuckled and stood. "Oh, have you now? What would we talk about?" 

The growl of his voice made Brienne clench, though she answered all the same. "About our route, you weren't so keen to answer last we spoke." Brienne was not careful in her tone, she knew Sandor held her in disdain. 

"I told you last time, lass. We're not taking the Kingsroad, we'd be better off jumping in a pit of adders." 

Brienne's tongue was quick and certain, "If not the kingsroad then where? Tarth is east and were heading west, unless you plan on sailing us around the world, past Slavers Bay and old Valyria we need to change course."

The Hound answered immediately and with what Brienne thought was passion. "I do plan to sail, girl but not to Valyria. The Kingsroad is Lannister land now and I'm hardly a friend."

The words were strange to Brienne's years, not spat or tainted with malice, only true. The Hound was not an eloquent man but even he seemed able to draw up some passion.

"Joffrey is dea-" Sandor cut her, "The boy is dead, aye. But his mothers still about, Cersei's half as mad but twice as dangerous as Joffrey ever was, she won't hesitate to put my head on a pike after I left her son alone in a siege."

"How do you plan to make it to the Stormlands without heading east? even without the Kingsroad we could cut across east." Brienne asked roughly, her mind still working on his last words.

Sandor stepped from under the trees shadow into a pillar of moonlight, his scars glimmering in its beams. "Do you know my name, girl?" 

The question was strange and Sandor's eyes seemed darker than ever, sending another wave of goose prickles up Brienne's spine. "Sandor." Brienne answered and the Hound grinned. 

"Clegane. That's the name my father gave me and my brother both. And it's also the name the Lannisters gave our keep." 

Cleganes Keep, Brienne had heard of it, though only through soldiers tales. From what the men in Renly's camp had said, it was far from a pleasant place. 

"My brother held our keep, but if what your boy Pod says is true, if Gregor really fought that mad bastard Oberyn Martell, he is almost certainly dead." Sandor continued, his eyes fixed on Brienne's.

"You could you know?" Brienne asked, her mind as curious as her tongue, "Your brother was a monster."

The Hound chuckled at that, "A monster, aye. But even monsters fall to madness. Do you know who Oberyn is, girl? Or why they call him the Red Viper? it's not for his fondness of snakes."

Oberyn Martell, father had spoken of him once, Brienne recalled, though with much disdain. Brienne knew neither the man nor his myth, only his name. Brienne shook her head and the Hound stepped closer.

"Oberyn is not a big man but he is smart, and twice as mad as Gregor on a bad day. Gregor could put Oberyn in two with one swing of his sword, aye. But if my beloved brother let the viper draw his blood he's as dead as Joffrey."

Brienne's mind processed his words like lightning, reaching under his growling sarcasm to find some truth. "He poisons them?" Brienne asked, both surprised and shocked. 

"Your catching on lass. Aye, he taints his blades, and he hates Gregor more than me. Guess that's what you get when you butcher a mad mans sister and infant nephew. Gregor should count himself lucky, Oberyn is like to take of his head before the poisons take hold." 

The thought sent a bolt of disgust to Brienne's gut, "there's no honour in poisons, only a coward taints his blade."

The Hound responded as gruffly as ever. "Cowards might but smart men do too. That poison is Oberyn's guerantee, if Gregor dies in battle, the poison was useless but Oberyn gets his revenge. If Oberyn dies, Gregor dies too and he gets his revenge regardless. I can promise you, girl. Oberyn is no coward, he is braver than you and far deadlier."

The Hounds knowledge of Martell unnerved Brienne, and she started to suspect he may do the same with his blade. "How could you know so much of a Martell?" She asked, more curious than afraid.

"Never you mind, I know Oberyn and I know how he fights, Gregor is dead. With Gregor gone I stand to inherit his lands, given all his wives have died. The Kingsroad is out of the question, the Lannisters would kill us before we passed Kings Landing." 

Brienne interrupted sharply, she was done with his bitter ramblings. "And you plan is?"

Sandor's face twisted at her words, his brow furrowed and his scowl returned. "West. We head west to my hold, with Gregor gone the land, gold and arms are mine. We take what we need and head to Lannisport-" 

"What?!" Brienne almost screamed. "You want to head for Lannisport? You just said the Lannisters want your head, so you plan to head for they're home?"

The Hound didn't so much as flinch, his eyes stayed locked on Brienne's and his face remained curled into its scowl. "Aye, the Lannisters are all in Kings Landing, Lannisport is likely held by retainers, none of which have met me. From Lannisport we can use the gold to buy passage on a ship to Dorne." 

"Dorne?" Brienne blurted, befuddled.

"Have you not been listening, girl? The Martells rule Dorne, if Oberyn lives he will be there, if he's dead he will be there." Sandor huffed, his voice heavy with contension. 

"But what of Tarth? Dorne is deadly and the Boneway has been sealed." Brienne was starting to hate all of her questions, each one made her look slower than the last. 

"The Dornish have ships and we will have gold, you and your wolf girl can head for your little island from there. The boy can do as he bids." Sandor finished, backing into the shadows again.

Brienne was still torn, the Kingsroad was quicker but Sandor was likely right about Cersai. The march to Lannisport was long and dangerous and the seas were rough in the Stormlands. 

"What of you?" She finally asked, "What will you do in Dorne?" 

The Hounds silhouette stood still a moment before he answered, as if pondering her words.

"If Oberyn lives I'll enter his service. The Martells hate the Lannisters and I'm hardly a friend of Cersei. If not, his brother will need swords for his revenge, a man like me will fit in well in a warband. Now unless your here to take watch, you should get back inside with the others, your wolf is likely due her feed."

Brienne brushed off the insult and padded back to the hut. Just inside the door, with dagger in hand stood Podrick, stern faced and garbed in his quilted blankets. 

Brienne nodded quietly to the boy and slid back to her corner, "Sleep Pod, the watch is taken." Pod did not respond. Brienne dismissed his silence and knelt beside her furs, finding its edge.

Inside, the furs were cold and stiff, and Arya was not among them. Brienne searched with arm and leg but found no trace. Surprisingly startled, Brienne sat up and turned to Pod. "Where's Arya?" She asked simply, trying not to let her panic show.

Pod looked across the hut and muttered, "She went to make water a few minutes ago." 

The coolness of Pods voice was disconcerting but Brienne let some of her panic slip away. Brienne lowered herself back below the furs and looped her arms around her knees, the bristly furs tickling her chin.

With heat returning to her Brienne waited, and waited, and waited. At last, after what felt an hour she dragged herself up to her knees and spoke, "Pod, armour me, now!"

The boy obeyed as usual and Brienne began to fasten her vambraces, Pod working on her greaves. The chest plate followed, then the pauldrons, gorget and what remained of her tasset.

As the boy straped on Brienne's left pauldron, with little but a few mummers. Sandor lumbered into the hut. His face was puzzled from what she saw, though the shadows do dance in moonlight.

"What the bloody hell are you two doing?" He sputtered.

Brienne returned with what she thought was a strong tone, though she sensed that her panic was slipping in beneath her voice. "Arya's gone, I'm going to search for her."

Sandor's face turned from anger to wonder to fear all at once before her, his heavy brow furrowed and his lips tightened. Sharp words await.

"How in the blazes did she leave? How long ago?" The Hound boomed, the charred skin along his face beginning to pulse with red.

Brienne opened her mouth to speak but Pod cut her off. "She went to make water in th-" the boy got only a few words out clearly, the rest were sputtered and choked. "Fucks sake, boy! Spit it out!" 

Pod paled at the big mans howls, Brienne thought he may faint. "Ser, I- Ser-"

"I'm no fucking Ser, boy!" Sandor boomed in an alarming tone. Brienne stood then and cinched on her belt, Oathkeeper rattling loudly on her tasset.

"She's off pissing in the woods, dog! Now either help me armour or get out!" Brienne barked when Sandor thumped his fist against the crumbling stone wall, sending pillars of dust into his face.

With Brienne tightening a loose vambrace, Sandor pounding his gnarled fists on the wall and Pod behind her with a face pale as the moonlight. Brienne hardly heard the foul voice calling out they're names.

"Clegane! Tarth! Payne! Come and claim what's yours!"

The Hound ceased his pounding as his name reached his ear and Brienne nearly lost grip of her strings as her own floated into the room. 

"Clegane! Tarth! Payne! Come claim what's yours!" The voice came again, from outside the hut. In the pale moonlit road.

Both Pod and Sandor froze in place as the voices came a third time, this time more guttural and coarse. "Clegane! Tarth! Payne! Come and take what's yours!" 

The voices stirred Brienne then and she strode heavy through the lopsided door, into the icy night air, Oathkeeper clenched tight in her fist.

Outside stood four dark men, garbed in black and bathed in moonlight, one tall and lean, two stout and one atop a knackered mule that stood no higher than Pod. Their body and garb did not concern Brienne, only the girl knelt before them, a long, thin blade pressed to her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope you enjoyed that, and I do hope it has wet your appetite for more of these little adventures.
> 
> Unfortunately, for both you and me I am unlikely to be posting any more chapters to my work until after the seasonal festivities have run their course. So to all those who want more Arya and Brienne action, you'd best buckle up to a wait.
> 
> This short seasonal hiatus of mine is not permanent, nor is it overarching to the writing process, I am very likely to be writing or at the very least dabbling over the holidays.
> 
> Thank you for viewing my folly, please leve your thoughts. And appy whatever bizzare religious tradition you care to mention.
> 
> Valar Dohaeris


	12. The Road Goes Ever On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fucking deserters, never a challenge. Is the only thing they teach at the Wall how to charge and hope for best, idiots!"
> 
> Sandor's fist caught the short deserter in the mouth, his surprisingly fine teeth spilling into the mud beside him, one white shard jarred uncomfortably into him eye. The next caught him in the throat, the rest was quite painful to hear. No worse way to die than choking, well, maybe flame but that kills quickly, the deserters sputters and gasps were almost hard to stomach"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the old gods and the new, Proud House Xareth apologises irrevitably for its great slight to its loyal allies. 
> 
> Lord Xareth sends his greatest apologies for his abhorrent neglect of his lordly duty and proud Lady Xareth wishes to inform all the proud Houses of this great archive that her Lord husband shall be punished for his dishonourable conduct.

Chapter XII: The Road Goes Ever On

 

~o~ Arya ~o~

 

Old cracked iron bit deep in Arya's neck, the blade bent and battered, more rust than metal. Any smith worth his salt would more than likely spit in the eye of the headstrong ox that brought it to them.

Though the blade had been pressed to her throat only a moment ago Arya could already feel the surprisingly cool blood welling beneath her jaw. One wrong move or a sudden twitch and she would join countless others with their "Slavers Smiles". 

Despite her current predicament Arya couldn't help but blame herself. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Why did you go out alone?!; The cry rang in her head. Why? Why did you do that you stupid, stupid little girl?; A shiver ran down Arya's spine, she was beginning to sound like Septa Mordane. The thought hurt more than the slowly widening gash below her chin.

The hut was lit dimly from within, the light showing only the faintest of shadows. Though they roiled all the same. From the buckled doorway emerged yet another reason for Arya to shiver.

Brienne, standing tall and clad in her haunting black plate, a look somewhat reminiscent of a roaring hearth upon her face. The man at Arya's back pressed his knee into her back when her iron giant approached, Arya's weak knees flopping into the mud with a wet clap. A flurry of cool shivers ran down Arya's spine as the moist soil seeped into the seams of her britches. Arya spied a stare of blind fury in Brienne's eyes, even from afar her glare was intimidating. Arya made sure to promise herself then never to wrong her, she would not appreciate being on the sharp end of that glare.

Brienne was at a marching pace, stomping through the caked mud with her stare focused squarely on the man at Arya's back.

"That's close enough, wench!" Growled one of the men, to no effect. When Brienne kept approaching, her great blue eyes now fixed firmly on Arya's own the man with the crooked blade pressed his metal deeper to Arya's throat, opening the gash even further.

Grasping a handful of Arya's hair, the man wrenched her head back to show her pale neck, and likely the blood now seeping from it. "What is it you want?" She heard Brienne's voice bark, Arya's eyes useless as they filed with picking droplets of rain from the heavy grey sky, only a shade above black.

"Horses!" One of the bandits yelped, in a voice not at all threatening.

"And food and gold. We'll take what you've got or we'll open up your girl like a fresh hare, would you like that Big 'un? Her blood on my boots?" "Hand over the coin!" Another finished, this time more gruffly with an air of sot about it

Arya chuckled at that, as if her death would buy these fools the coin they want, if Brienne hadn't killed them before her corpse found the floor the Hound certainly would.

A wispy image of Sandor severing her fat captors bulging belly from his hips brought a wide smile to Arya's face.

"How about steel? She's got plenty for all of you!" Arya chimed in shrilly, her voice as dry as it was mocking.

The man at her side, short and round with big ears and a low chin clipped her for that, slapping her from lip to ear with the back of his pudgy hand. The blow knocked Arya from the others grasp into the mud, her cheek howling with barbs of sharp, leering pain.

The leaner man's skinny fingers wormed around Arya's collar in the muck, yanking her almost to her feet a pace or two from him, a sharp narrow blade pressed to the nape of her neck.

More voices whistled around Arya, her ear ringing and vision clouded with thick, unforgiving mud. The words "Bastard", "Whore" and "Blood" were barely decipherable.

Arya was brought back to sense then by a loud and very sudden thrum, followed by a yelp and a wet splash. Slipping her captors grasp Arya wheeled about, the thin man's twitching corpse meeting her eye immediately. 

The man was lean and unkempt, with a boyish complexion and round button nose, pitiful beard and a deep hazel eye, the other crushed beneath a splintering black shaft. 

In a sudden panicked burst Arya lunged for the dead mans corpse, wrenching his skinny dirk free of his still twitching fingers. Snatching up his blade Arya lunged low to her left, Her sheer blade punching through the mail, leather and muscle of the pudgy man's thigh. 

Fools!; The slim blade slid through the thick man's limb like a knight through a well kept brothal.

The short man was less than a head taller than Arya but thrice as thick, his heaving body crashing to its knees with a loud thump, taking the dirk with him and almost toppling Arya as he fell.

Arya turned then to see Brienne give another their due, slashing Oathkeeper savagely at another of her ill educated captors, a tall man with wispy grey hair and a flat belly that his wet tunic clung to. 

Brienne's first stroke struck loudly on his rusted blade, sending shards of rust whistling into the undergrowth. The second took off his hand at the wrist and the third splintered his fleshy head in one gloriously savage blow. Brienne's face was burning crimson, her beautiful eyes like howling blue moons. The mud squelched loudly as shards of skull and tooth found it, sinking beneath layers of thick brown muck.

By the time Brienne had rounded on him the mounted man had stuck in his spurs and was bolting away in an unsure gallop. Atop his corpse of a donkey the last mans cloak slapped and his armour rattled as he bounced almost humorously into the distance. As he sunk into the deep fog of the forest two long black shafts found his mount, thrumming loudly even from a distance. 

Run boy, vengeance finds us all eventually; The man's friends had greeted him as Byron when she had by taken, the others were Pate, Martyn, Ulric and simply "Boy". 

"Another face to join the mist, another name to grace the list." Arya thought aloud in a hushed tone as she stared blindly into the cavernous maw the rider had left in the thick evening fug. 

"List?" Came a voice like silk in her ears, "What list?"

Arya spun on her heel to face Brienne, though no sooner had she opened her mouth than her words were stolen in one swift motion. 

Behind the looming Brienne strode a bow wielding Pod, his pace fast and diliberate. At the boy's feet the fat man lay spattered in the remains of his teeth. "Please!" He groaned, pitifully, "Please, no more." 

Without so much as a second glance of twitch of the eye Pod drew back his bow and loosed a long black arrow into the gored beggars face, taking him beside the nose and silencing his pleas with a dull thrum.

Arya stood stunned, her mouth lax and eyes bound to the boy she once thought a coward.

Arya had seen Podrick kill before, at the Speckled Hen, to save both Arya and his mistress.  
But never had she seen the pale boy kill for anything but survival, never had she seen the blank stare he bore as the shaft split his targets cheekbones.

"All men are killers Arya, even an honourable man must draw blood to protect his own: his family, his country, his honour." Her father had said, when the Septas drove her away, when he found her among the men, sifting through old armour and rusty arms. "No man should like it but some always will, though there is no shame in that there is no honour to be found either. An honourable man shows mercy, even if that mercy means more blood."

Her fathers words sent cool shivers down Arya's spine, and a discomforting roil to her gut. 

 

~o~ Brienne ~o~

 

It's hard to describe the noise a skull makes when it splits, clack perhaps or scrunch. A loud crack followed by the wet splat of brain and bone on upturned soil.

Brienne was never one to enjoy killing, the fight perhaps was a source of enjoyment but the end result was undesirable, yet necessary. This time however the rush Brienne felt was not from the familiar clash of steel but instead the crack of cheek and jaw. 

Regardless of her proclivities Brienne slashed her blade unnervingly savagely at the bastards screeching maw, silencing it with that familiar clack.

Beside her Brienne spied the glint of blood smeared steel; It is good to have a hound at your hind after all. How the men had thought they could survive alluded Brienne, two armed and armoured fighters, both much larger than usual and both as tired as they are hungry. These fools were doomed from the outset, though mayhaps that was for the best, these men were clad in black and the wall still stood to her knowledge. Deserters.

With the rage burning in her chest Brienne wrapped both fists firmly around Oathkeepers supple grip and lunged forward as a deserter passed her atop his half starved donkey. Savage yet precise Brienne struck the air an inch or two shy of the donkey's flank, Oathkeeper planting itself into the dense mud below her.

Her face speckled with fine droplets of blood and filth, her eyes clotting with dry tears and hair thick with sweat Brienne glanced about, her mind reeling as if she had found her carnage at her feet after waking from a long slumber. The world felt light as she stared blankly at her love as she wrenched herself free of the ungodly muck. Brienne smiled and started for her but the face she shot back stopped Brienne in her tracks. A look of horror and confusion it all but forced to glance her rear. 

Behind her pod was at a brisk pace, gliding over the muck, a longbow clenched hard in his hands. Before she could all but greet him pod wrenched on his bow and planted a shaft in the deserter at Arya's feet. 

Astonished at the coolness of his stride Brienne could do nought but stare blankly as pod pressed his boot to his preys lips to wrench his shaft free. 

Brienne's head swam awhile, numbing her to the sounds and pains of her world, everything softer and milder, almost blissful. 

 

~o~ Sandor ~o~

 

"Fucking deserters, never a challenge. Is the only thing they teach at the Wall how to charge and hope for best, idiots!"

Sandor's fist caught the short deserter in the mouth, his surprisingly fine teeth spilling into the mud beside him, one white shard jarred uncomfortably into him eye. The next caught him in the throat, the rest was quite painful to hear. No worse way to die than choking, well, maybe flame but that kills quickly, the deserters sputters and gasps were almost hard to stomach.

That was, before the choking fool decided it was a fine idea to stab his bold bent old knife into Sandor's breastplate. Sandor slapped his puny blade aside and grasped him by the throat, drawing him so close that his ragged breath set Sandor's own ablaze.

"Please Ser, I've family we only wa-" Sandor cut him off. "I'm no knight fucksack, that was your first mistake, the second was trying to stick me with that letter opener. Do ya know what the third was?" He asked, his tone both mocking and foreboding as usual.

"No Ser, I, please-" he sputtered in the familiar pleading tone servants used when they had spilt some valuable wine or been found fucking some lordlings wife.

"The Walls for keeping!" Sandor growled into the deserters ear as his blade slipped between his preys ribs.

The deserter was not one for a quick death, he sputtered and gasped as his life left him, hands clawing desperately at Sandor's arms and face. 

Pathetic, they could at least learn to fight before they flee; Sandor held a specific disdain for deserters, despite being one. During Balon's rebellion Sandor had fought wildlings, thralls and servants of uppity pirate lords but deadly. One wildling had leapt from his own ship onto Sandor's, splattering the first mates head with his rickety stone maul.

Lucky for the captain the wildlings makeshift weapon shattered on his best mans face, along with said face. 

The deserter slumped lifeless in Sandor's hands, his last few panicked flails softening as his eyes rolled up into his hollow head. His corpse heavier as it hung limp Sandor tossed him aside to crash onto the crumbling wall, loosening its stones even more.

Blood glistening in crimson whorls around his fingers and his appetite sated, Sandor wheeled about, glancing the Tarth woman shattering her preys face with her golden sword, splinters of skull peppering the ground around her.

With his friends in pieces around him, the last deserter was likely regretting stealing that girl from whatever stream he found her. "Lucky he's got a mount, She's like to twist his fucking head off." Sandor grumbled under uneven breath. Stumbling back into the mottled moonlight Sandor caught sight of Pod, bow in hand marching over the ebb and flow of mud before him, his eyes fixed sternly on a fat, bawling deserter writhing in the filth. 

Arya raised her hand before him but before either her or the Tarth woman could intervene he wrenched back his bowstring and ceased the filth's calls at last. Good lad, no point in letting them bleed all over the place, it'll just attract more crows. 

With all the deserters done Sandor mopped his sleeve across his brow, slung his greatsword back across his back and started for the hut, passing the lovebirds to the sounds of hurried whispers. It almost makes you want to puke; Sandor thought as he ducked through the sloped doorframe.

Inside, Sandor found the Payne boy, his long black bow about his back like some charred trophy. Who could have thought the clumsy little shit could hold a bow; Sandor wondered, even if he was some falcon eyed archer Sandor would make sure to stay out of his range, he hated arrows and a feathered arse was bad enough when not from a boy so useless the salt beef leaps in the pot itself just to escape his fingers.

Inside the crumbled walls the fire had grown, the boy was feeding thin twigs to its glowing maw by the handful when Sandor let himself fall hard into a dark corner. Atop the flames sat a round iron pot, sprigs of leek and salt beef poking out from the bubbling water. "Well, this should be entertaining at least."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took long enough to write didn't it. Apologies galore to all those left waiting on this chapter, I've been practically scourging myself into writing again. It seems long holiday breaks do little for my literary prowess.
> 
> To all you loyal readers I do hope to get out a few more chapters by next month, though I'm likely to be reported missing by April if Dark Souls is indeed released.
> 
> Also, as an aside I would like to thank each and every reader for contributing to this works view count, I cannot describe the impossibly cute, OCD empowered squeal I uttered when I discovered the gloriously round one thousand on this work. I know its wierd by I cannot help but be delighted by round numbers.
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed my attempt to satiate my boredom, please do leave your opinions below, good or bad all are welcome. Valar Dohaeris.


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